Project Circadia Take 2
by Sabeline
Summary: Changes/improvements needed new document, plot's the same: Her life had been a project, and not her own. Now her prospects were grey as the ashes she'd left behind. The world worked on a system only she thought was broken, but could she fix it? Was it her place? Could Fia be a benevolent force, or could her innate darkness only create further strife? Updates weekly/reviews welcome!
1. 1: Ashes

Chapter 1

Project circadia

That visual venom was the only thing in existence as the haze surrounding my consciousness began to dissipate. I wanted Jemma's arms, my bed, the moon. But there was _nothing_ , not even comforting darkness. Not even abyss. There were only those words.

At least those words had been contained. Hopeless desperation rushed in when words eventually broke open and the rest of reality again started to exist, make sense. Not make sense exactly, at least register. As far as I was concerned nothing was likely to ever make sense again. What was sense? I was too broken to want an answer.

 _First things first_ , I instructed myself shakily, knowing I could not yet sort out the words on the file, _Take stock_ : I was sitting on my curled up knees. That was a start.

The fire was dying, though it still coated the remains of the computers, the file cabinets, the walls, the cubicles, the dripping glass—nearly everything that lay around me—in its black veil. I could sense rather than see it softly brush the rest of the building's interior into ash, like the last leaf falling off an autumn tree. Not just the offices and the classrooms, but my library, my study, my room…my bed… _my li_ _f_ _._ The haze began to come up again. _No, no more_. They were all gone but I couldn't decide whether they had deserved it. Couldn't consider it now. Couldn't consider anything.

A huge blank wall of fog began to close back in around my mind at the half-formed thought.

 _Too much, Hon, too much for today. Wait._ The sound advice stymied the wall's advance, but it hovered, waiting to crash like a wave back upon me.

In the meantime, the dark fire had crept onto the heinous file and it began to char in my hands. _Good …_

 _…_

 _…_

 _..._

I felt the flame gently pat my hands, promising to take everything away.

 _I wish you could_.

The bodies wouldn't cremate, I instinctively knew. On the living, these fires used life force as an oxidizer, burning from the inside and out. But the life was gone. The fire's had reaped everything. I forced myself to think the truth, barely: _Everyone_. My vision gravitated to the solid black orbs on the face of the corpse to my left, but they stared past me in, no longer in horror but still reflecting its ghost.

 _Butbutbutbut_ _._ The thought was weak but desperate.

 _Later,_ I soothed myself again, _Stock first, comprehension later_. _Deep breath_. I complied.

The file disintegrated.

Well— _breathe_ —that was what what was gone.

Everything.

What was there to be left? _Me, I suppose_. What did that matter? Was I anyone after the lifelong lie? After all that _manipulation_? I pressed my knuckles to my head, trying futilely to physically halt the guerrilla war between confused fear and sickening fury that arose from the question. Being was too big a question for now.

 _Stick with the fact that you're alive_. That, I had to concede, was true, whether or not I wanted it to be.

 _What else is left?_ part of me urged. I couldn't remember what I had grabbed before I had gone off like a cloud of chlorine. Another deep breath and my hands fell away from my temples: the left onto my hip, the other to my necklace. Yes, the moonstone pennant was still there on its chain. I rubbed it, hoping the contact would give me the comfort and strength I desperately needed, as usually did. But the stone was tapped, completely drained by the night's events—only a rock, no sense of the reassuring moon. I realized my other hand was clutched around my harmonica. So that had survived. _Good._ I almost considered trying to play it, but between the cinders on my lips and the fact that there still didn't seem to be any sound in the world, the thought died before it had really begun.

I could feel something else tucked at my right hip. I released the exhausted moonstone and felt shakily for the object. Worn terry cloth kissed my fingertips and I nearly collapsed with relief that in my earlier knot of muddle and destruction, I had saved Hym[1]. My eyes burned again, from happiness and pain. He was a part of me, my life, my past, not merely a greying wolf toy. He seemed intact, but was he? Were we? What was left of me at this point? Again, I forced the question into the background and concentrated on the fact that he was there. As long as that anchor existed, the world continued to turn.

I sat there, clutching him to my breast, slowly stroking his head, for enough time for the ash to be swept into oblivion and the fire to go out, not enough for the rest of my senses to return.

That's why my body shivered with the pretense of a jump when behind me I heard:

"My dear, you _have_ been thorough."

My shock prevented any more of a reaction than that initial twitch, but I remember the voice that finally penetrated my isolation; even in my condition I analyzed it, felt it out. It was a solid voice, masculine, smooth and hard like marble. It wasn't comforting, it wasn't cold. It wasn't condemning as I had feared—at least, not enough for me to have detected it in my frozen state. It might have had a touch of resignation but mostly it was simply matter of fact. It waited for a response. I wasn't up to the task.

"You should get out of the weather."

It _had_ started to rain, I realized. The cold sort of rain that marks the end of summer and curdles under your skin. I hunched over Hym to keep him dry. The droplets lighted on my dark hair and sat there like jewels, but I had no eyes for its beauty. I may have heard a foot step.

"Poor thing." The voice was closer. Whether or not it was mocking or pitying was irrelevant. A hand lowered itself to my shoulder. Its relative warmth began my thaw. I looked over my shoulder, into his face.

His eyes were hard. He was bald. He wore a suit. He wore power. That was all the impression that made it to my awareness. Normally with the touch I would have been able to tell how he wielded that power, but there was nothing left of me to resonate and register his signals more thoroughly than what I'd felt from his voice. My attention gravitated back to my moor.

"There's nothing left for you here. You made sure of that, and had you not, I would have." He paused, as if reconsidering his previous statement then continued. "At the moment that is irrelevant. I must eventually have the full story of these night's events out of you, but I suppose that must wait. You're no good to anyone if you _insist_ on eroding away like this." I could tell the words were meant to spur me, as a few hackles responded to his accusation, but it was still a secondary reaction, a cheap imitation. Noting my lack of response he let out a sigh somewhere between exasperation and acquiescence. It seemed to draw a second figure that held out an umbrella over my would-be confidante. "I am a busy man and I do not have time to let the mud soak into my Salvatore Ferragamo's." I imagined he mentally added, _though I do have the money_. "It would be to both our advantages if you would accompany me." There was some steel now. "You will have a place to stay, which—I'm sure you realize—you need if you wish to recover. Those are your options: to stay here and wither or to come in the car."

"I can't." I wanted to croak, but as always could not. My instinctive response made part of me giggle and I mentally gagged myself to prevent it from becoming hysterical and cracking me through. Of all the things to say after such an agonizing night, _that_ was my answer? And it wasn't and 'I can't leave' or an 'I can't get in the car with a stranger'. It was an 'I can't get in the car because I will cause it to break'—Pretty much anything electrical or mechanical that requires a class to understand inevitably rejects my essence and collapses, particularly when I am distraught or emotional as I was that night. The 'I can't' was a Pavlovian response to the idea of getting in such potential high speed death trap of my own creation. I wasn't even up to trying to sign the words; I just shook my head.

"You are more drained than the accounts of my most recent corporate victim; it is unlikely that you will affect the vehicle." It should have alarmed me that he had understood my exact meaning from just the shake, but I found myself somewhat comforted by the knowledge that in my rampage I had not completely severed my ties with humanity. I clung to that comfort like the drowning person I was.

Without looking up I reached out a hand; my legs refused to move without external directive. After a pause a gloved hand pulled me up. The bald man was already headed towards his black vehicle where yet another person held open the door. The man with the umbrella stood unmoving as I leaned against him, shaking life back into my stinging legs. As soon as I took my first tentative step, he escorted me briskly to the vehicle.

The overhead light had been turned off. It was another consideration I was too thankful for to question. Mr. Umbrella gave me a hand in like a proper gentleman and shut the door. I found the car claustrophobic, but the darkness embraced me and those fears at least ebbed.

The engine growled and the car set off through the forest. I looked over to the bald man, but he seemed to have forgotten my existence. I never liked being disregarded, but I hadn't had much success doing do anything about it, and tonight was no different. I'd become accustomed being a background figure, and now being ignored only truly bothered me when I actively tried to enter a conversation. So I didn't anymore. Despite this, it still should have angered me that I was treated like cargo. Just because I couldn't manage to bring attention to myself didn't mean I deserved to be treated as an object. No one did. In this instance at least, it really wasn't in my interest to bring attention to myself.

 _Try, say something._ A voice still whispered, but it was weak and pitiful.

Instead of speaking up, I looked out the windows onto the night. The windows were tinted, privacy I suppose, but they didn't impede my sight, nor did the raindrops racing down the glass. I'd never really paid attention to the forest road before, but a sense of finality hung over me and despite the general numbness that was blanketing my earlier rage, a bit of remorse at how my actions would change my life forever seeped through and forced me to study the trees. It might be my last chance, my last view of _home_. My stomach clenched in revulsion at the mockery they had made of that word.

 _Home is here. Home is_ Hym _. Do not worry about that now. We will deal with it when you are ready._ _I know. Thanks_ _. Always._ __

When you are alone as often as I am, you begin to keep yourself company. It's a comfort, not an aberration; after such a night, I needed it. So lay off.

I watched the dark trees: pine mostly, with a few maples, oaks, and birches interspersed. The deciduous ones were still fully green despite the inevitable approach of fall. The leaves dripped, their waxy coats preventing them from soaking up water to the point of being torn off. We passed little stone shrines dedicated to something or another, almost completely obscured by moss and ivy. Eyes of nigh creatures glinted from the depths. My body shivered, a solid once over that started at the nape of my neck traveling down my spine, into my arms and tailbone, to my fingers, legs and toes. I still wasn't remotely near thawed, but the shudder acted as a sort of reset and I felt a touch more restored. I sensed a hint of fear from the forest life—fear of the death that still cloaked me—before my resonance once again cut out. I was too done to keep up the effort and too saturated to add their repulsion to my own. There still was a fair amount of non-reporting from my physical body; surely that needed taking care of before I could possibly extend my senses outward. As the bald man had said, I was as drained as the assets in a corporate takeover. I didn't need to be able to sense him deeply to recognize the truth of that statement.

As my thoughts drifted onto the bald man, so did my eyes. Glancing over I saw that he had fallen asleep. It was obvious that he could be awake at a moment's notice, but equally obvious he was certain that that moment would never arrive. Really, it suited me fine, though it still made my skin prickle. Instead of trying to figure out why, I began to focus on getting myself back in order. Smell, for example, had still not come back, and until it had, I couldn't be sure that this wasn't all one of my dreams...nightmares—smell is the mark of reality.

 _Start with the easy things_ , I thought. I tapped each finger methodically. One. Two. Three. Four.

By the time we arrived at the mansion, I was physically back on the grid, though emotionally and cogitatively I was still experiencing severe brown outs. All earnest reset attempts caused power surges.

One could say the house glowed cheerily in the gloom, but to me, the light speared menacingly into the night. I didn't want to face the illumination, but it didn't seem like I was going to be given much choice. I'd been through brighter, right? _Yeah, but not after such a thorough sapping, even if it was mostly self-inflicted,_ I thought dejectedly. _Not helping_.

The driver and Mr. Umbrella exited in unison. Mr. Umbrella turned, opened the bald man's door and, true to his given name, spread out the umbrella. I didn't warrant such attention as the driver opened my door, pulled me onto the thankfully dim driveway, returned to his seat, and drove off. The lack of cover was actually more of a kindness than the bald man could have known; the rain cooled my skin and its' caress was a surrogate for the tears I could no longer shed.

The bald man had started towards the house, up a grand stair. I could run off, instinctively I pleaded with myself to do so, protect myself from this unknown entity and his gilded domain. But the bald man was right, I needed a place to stay, and this was _the_ option. _But the lights…_ I countered my rationality with my habitual unwillingness to be exposed.

I guess the bald man must have noticed my hesitation though distained to do anything about it himself because it was Mr. Umbrella who gave me the meaningful glare.

 _I can do this. Easy. I've done this before, no problem._ _You got this_. I braced myself and climbed onto the illuminated step.

It could have been worse, I supposed. I could tell the bulbs weren't full spectrum, and they were not particularly bright. Looking back it was probably about 40 lux, and therefore should have felt like walking on small river pebbles in bare feet, except all over my body. Unpleasant, but utterly bearable.

In my state, the smooth stones had turned to dull, rusty nails.

I couldn't help it; I whimpered in silence. I couldn't even hate myself for doing so. Every inch of me tensed in protest, straining to go back where I belonged. My eyes pricked like someone had taped them open and then thrown in sand. _You've been through worse, Hon, I know. You can do this. Just think of the bed that waits at the end of this gauntlet, even if it isn't yours._ I acknowledged my own point. This wasn't lethal and was the price of the peace of sleep. Really, not such a high cost. Still, each fresh step up the stairs was a battle between body and mind, instinct and practicality.

I reached the top of the stairs and swayed. Another step was not in the cards; my constitution declared that I had a choice between moving forward and remaining conscious. Blacking out was a welcome option: all the recovery I had done in the car had evaporated. Still, losing consciousness was dangerous; I couldn't afford to let my guard down before I knew more about what was going on and where I was going, if possible. While I pondered my next move, I noticed another person, this time a woman, barely inside the door. She wore a stiff skirt suit of grey, strait as her dark brown hair. Though her skin was tan, her posture radiated cold, not the warmth you'd expect. For some reason I couldn't make myself look into her eyes.

At a nod from the bald man, she came over and held me up. Her shadow created what should have been oasis of darkness. But it was impossible to relax, the oasis was tainted; even in my state, her touch repulsed me, was _wrong_.

"Sir, you really should not have left the house without me." It should have sounded like a scolding except coming from her it was a fact, void of emotion.

He seemed to have forgotten I had ears, "I know, Mercy, but I really couldn't risk your special skill set until I knew exactly what state she was in. You know how irritating it is to have to fix you."

My annoyance at being referred to as if I were absent evaporated as I heard the last two words. What was off about her—the arm that she was holding me by, it wasn't alive. She wasn't human. But she wasn't a machine either. The unnatural medley made me shiver. She broke every rule of… of _energy_ , the universe's rules, that I instinctively accepted. _Cyborg,_ I thought like a curse _._ But it wasn't only her mechanical nature that made her so alien. She didn't seem to have any substance, any soul. Just… empty.

"Please escort her to suite nine." My host instructed. He headed up an interior staircase and the cyborg pulled me down a hall. She opened a door on the right, and without hitting the lights dragged me to the bed. She deposited me there and left, closing the door behind her. She didn't lock it, but there was no need; the instinct to run had been replaced by something stronger. It was practically blissful to be back in the dark and lying down. It wasn't as soothing as moonlight would have been, but the cessation of the pain was enough.

I would have liked to have fallen right into a natural sleep, but the entirety of my brain was finally starting to come-to after being essentially on autopilot since I'd first lain eyes on the words. My mind, usually a busy place, compelled me to at least try and sort through the night's events. After all, some processing happened in sleep, so the more I primed myself now, the more would happen unconsciously, painlessly. At least, that's the conclusion I kept coming too. It was worth a shot—sleep was not about, and it was…like coming home, to have access to all of myself again. As much home as was left.

I tried to think back on what I had happened in the compound. I remembered… flashes. Screams. Black flame. And then black eyes on a familiar face staring _straight_ to my core. That gaze, a barbed arrow flying straight through my heart—Twisted viscously—I was splintering again! I was—

I mentally shrieked and for an endless moment that was all that I was. Just as quickly and as involuntarily, a solid brick wall came sharply up between my conscious and the memory, the injury, that had consumed me. I shied back into my own mental arms, sobbing as I bolted away from the remembered blank eyes. In my mind, one me hugged the other and hushed. _Later, later, we will get there later._ Eventually I was reassured enough to collect both of my pieces back into one and turned instead to what I was already sure of, what I didn't need (or want) to drag from the hidden places within my own head.

Project circadia, the file had spat at me. _Project_ —the brick wall became an inferno of spite-filled indignation and started to set off a conflagration comparable to that which had started this whole thing. I pushed it away, pushed everything, except breathing, away.

…

The fires smoldered, then smothered. I could not consider in any way, shape, or form, that I had been someone's _project._ Acceptance, at least for now, was impossible.

 _What about Circadia?_ Though I felt resentment at the word, it was manageable, and there was a balancing curiosity at the word. Damn my curiosity. Was that really what they had believed of me?

I reviewed what they had known: I could draw strength both from the sun and the moon. I could throw fire and travel by shadow. Technology died, sometimes violently, around me when I did either, sometimes even when I did not. They knew I had some extra sense, resonance, with others, though not really the extent. I always knew the time. _Come to think of it, what time is it?_ _I'm not sure, still offline._ _Great,_ I mentally sighed, _anyways…_ The first two abilities showed an obvious indication that my power lay in the day-night rhythms. And the time thing, _yeah, I guess Circadia must have made sense to them._

They were wrong though…

I thought of the file tab, and the yin-yang came back into my conceptual picture. _They thought I was the whole_ ; _I'm not. I'm the yin, with the bit of yang._ I'd always known so, but this was the first time I had ever explicitly defined myself as such _. I am night being who has a component of the day, exactly like the yin has that one spot of light._ It wasn't natural or easy for me, but I'd learned to use that piece of me, as they'd encouraged me to do. It was frustrating, taxing, but I could do it at need. Working in your opposite requires… extreme amounts of focus. Like keeping magnets apart, fighting nature. Uncomfortable at best, painful at worst.

As I said, they hadn't known the full extent of what I could do. There hadn't been to be a need for them to. _Although I guess based on the fact that I was their_ _project_ _they would have liked to_. I hissed to myself. Even when they had been family, I had never shared everything, I don't think anyone does. Had they known everything, the truth of my being would have been clear. _Starting with tonight. Nothing that is capable of what I unleashed could possibly be a true neutral being._

What had happened that night, to clarify, that hadn't been me. Not really. It was something that could happen, but I'd never done it before. It seemed specific to extreme situations like that night. _Apparently_. It was like the legal difference manslaughter and murder. My anguish at learning— _No don't think about it_ —had boiled over, into anything capable of being a vessel for such raw emotion, and spilling over beyond that. The fires had been a vehicle, consuming others with my excess despair and terror, forcing them to bear my feelings of being used, that life was too unbearable to live, too harsh, too isolating. They had burned under the weight of my desolation. Had I not had that outlet, I would have as well.

I gently nudged my thoughts back to myself self-defining endeavors, feeling it act as a balm.

To elaborate on the yang metaphor, sunlight was the only thing that allowed me to shed my night—or shade as I privately called it—form, I assumed because it called to that small light part of me. If I could, I would never choose to return to 'neutral', but embracing my essential darkness had a price. Any lights brighter than a candle flame pierced through me like darts into a cork board, slowly chewing up the struck surface. In such a day and age, it was impossible to avoid such conditions and therefore impractical to live as I would ideally. Speech was also not possible as a shade, but with next to no one to communicate with this was hardly a problem. Signing didn't convey the depth of emotion in a voice, but was serviceable on the rare occasion when I needed to convey a more complex idea. On the other hand, on the rare occasions that I did tap into the sun, I didn't need the moon to return to neutral. I simply let my natural duskiness draw me back to what passed for normal.

Really, I was _me,_ _me_ to the core, only under moonlight. To be under moonlight, felt like I'd been breathing smoke only hadn't realized it until I was allowed to breathe fresh air. I only needed the initial sighting of the moon to change and, as I explained, I stayed like this until sunrise. But the longer I exposed myself to that silver gaze, the more the injuries and insults life threw at me seemed to slide away.

They had known that as a shade I could travel by shadow, from one known location to another. With their help and teachings of chemistry and physics, I'd come to think of it as a sort of delocalization. But I could also _be_ shadow, localize. I could travel between any locations as long as shadows connected the two. Under doors, up walls, whatever, so long as there was enough width for my person.

That was just the superficial. The true power of my abilities lay in my interactions with the shadow world. I could manipulate objects by their shadows. A shadow crossing mine was as good as touching the thing in the normal plain. But with focus, I could alter a shadow and thus its caster's position from a distance. It was hardest when the thing was not directly connected with its dark mimic, e.g. floating. With effort though, even that manipulation was not impossible. Living things resisted, but as long as I had a strong connected to the person's shadow, my influence was like reins on a horse, a strong suggestion that could be countered only at a cost. _Unless…_ it didn't bear thinking of, I really shouldn't do that.

There were other types of shadows that people didn't consider as such still subject to my influence. Sleep, for instance. I couldn't call sleep, or else I'd have already done so that night. But when it was around, I could tell, and it generally listened to my nudging. Over the years I'd figured out a way or two to attract it at need. Funnily enough, though I could never see sleep, I always pictured lilac sheep. There was always the faintest smell of the flower and wool.

Then there were dreams. I could travel between them like I could with physical shadows, but dreams are much more labyrinthine in nature. Unless I had an anchor, I'd yet to be able to get from one to another on purpose. I mostly used this skill to find nocturnal entertainment, randomly flipping through the worlds like TV, which I had trouble watching most nights between the shorting out electronics and the sensitivity to lighting. In a dream, I could sense a person's secrets more clearly, clearer than my normal resonance when strengthened by touch. Usually I respect secrets; I had mine and people had theirs—I usually didn't pry, but some things just jumped out. As I've said, even at neutral though, if I resonated with a person, I got the gist of what she was about.

I realized with a start that I had managed to answer the question of my existence which had so plagued me earlier in the night. Though it was a bit expositive, my thoughts, both verbal and general, had defined me. When push came to shove, I was still _me_ _,_ dominant and dark, regardless of the fact that I had been used. And just as importantly, my self-definition had ordered my thoughts into a smooth continuum rather than the broken-brake pad feel of earlier in the night.

With that reaffirmation of my being and return of normal mentation, I started to finally relax, finally escape from both numbness and tension. I moved Hym from my waist to his customary slumber spot over my heart. The clouds parted and the gibbous moon came out. Its soft light fell upon my palm and held my hand. Sleep wandered in, attracted by the glow, and finally let me slip away.

* * *

[1] I don't actually have a name for my wolf, he transcends nomenclature. However having no name is not conducive to writing. Therefore, I chose to represent my schema of my wolf using the title Hym rather Him because I feel that being able to write the y as the y with the curly bottom rather than my normally writing y with a straight edge is a physical way to express special nature. Also, it avoids pronoun confusion.


	2. 2: Accessories

Chapter 2

When I awoke, my sense of timing had returned, and I knew it was three days later and 10:37am. I had not appreciated how disorienting it was not to be able to tell the time until the ability came back. It was like losing your hearing and not realizing it, but still noticing that you were having trouble understanding people because you had to do your best with lip reading.

My next realization was that I had no idea where I was. I pitifully cried out, "…Jemma". The name tasted like vomit as is passed through my lips.

The sensation brought back the truth of the situation and what followed was anger, pure, simple, hot. The defensive detachment I had forced myself into had completely fallen away during my recuperation. _How could they!_ More pressing: _How could_ she. I was used to this sort of thing from people, from strangers, but never this, from…family. The word was heavy, crashing into my chest like a rampaging bull, or out from it, or _something_. Trailing a train of tense energy, hatred fueled by confusion and hurt. _She was— she was—she was everything, and what was I? A project? Is that all people see me as, if they see me at all, damnit? What is wrong with people?_

A part of me I had no control over whispered _What is wrong with me?_ _._

 _How could you have done that? They were family! Sure, she screwed up, and maybe she never cared, but to do that? I know you were…that you felt… but… murder…?_

My eyes pricked, but no tears came; I was too dehydrated. A final, more rational piece of my mind overrode the chaotic others that were creating all the discordant thoughts. _Enough. That's all gone, behind you. You can sort through your feelings later and figure out what's next. Right now, sustenance_ is _the priority._

I was ravenous, and thirsty, and generally in need of the basics. I glanced around and to my relief saw a bowl of honey nut cheerios and milk on the bedside table. _My favorite…I wonder how he knew?..._ Well, it could be coincidence, but I doubted it. _Just another ploy..._ I mentally growled, but secretly I was happy for the kindness, and knew I'd pay for the easily gotten grain of trust later.I'd ask how he knew about my preferences when I saw him, now was not the time to look a gift horse in the mouth. I did wonder for a second how there happened to be food waiting for me just when I awoke, but the question answered itself as I noticed the remnants of water rings on the table. Wasteful, but appreciated. The cereal wasn't even soggy; it was only this minute starting to soak up the milk. That I could chalk up to coincidence of timing. Sometimes it's the small things.

I contentedly noshed on the cheerios, my fury temporarily displaced by the primal pleasure that comes from knowing for the moment you will not starve. Well, mostly at least: _Fastest way to anything's heart is through its stomach,_ I thought cynically, trying to erase my involuntary gratitude. More quietly I thought in response, _You've never been able to get rid of it before._ _First time for everything?_ _Uh-hu, right._ I nodded resigned agreement, even though it was only to myself.

The cheerios numbers dwindled to three, and I chased them with my spoon until I had them all before consuming them. A remnant of when I was little and I used to projected onto them sentience, fear of their fate of being eaten. No one should undergo such destiny alone, to be the last. Some things never change.

 _More than I'd thought_. The feeling of betrayal returned in full. _People are people, no one is different despite how things seem. Oblivious, malicious, or egotistic. Inclusive 'or'._ I made myself tip the now cheerio-less bowl into my mouth and drank the sweet milk. Normally I loved how it seeped the honey off of the cereal. The only thing that was better than honey milk is honey milk with banana. This milk, however, tasted sour. I knew it was my imagination ruining what should have been a treat, but still...

Though I had been famished not moments before, the small bowl was enough to sate me. There was a hard knot in my stomach which refused to admit more food, and I never could eat a lot, or anything rich, when I'd recently gotten up; I needed an adjustment period. _Hmph, I guess you could put it that way_.

With those necessities taken care of, I looked for a place to address my other urgent needs. As I suspected, there was an adjacent and opulent lav. I stumbled to it, every muscle complaining after such prolonged dormancy.

The fixtures were a simple silver, and that was the only simple part of the room. The floors were a purple goldstone so dark they were almost black, blinking with copper speckles. Each of the glass tiles that rounded the room was unique, flowing together in a marine motif.

That was all I absorbed before the commode stole my attention. The miracle of indoor plumbing.

After relieving myself I was able to better appreciate the style and other features of the room. They impressed me as much as the first. Two round drop sinks, each a clearly a handmade ceramic with copper firing created splashes of blue, green, and gold that picked up the copper in the floor. The pair nested in a counter of a creamy stone I couldn't name, topping warm walnut cabinets inlayed with mother of pearl, maple and Brazilian purple heartwood. The shower was a spacious octagon of frosted glass, and a heated towel rack hung demurely beside it.

 _Ooooooh._ My thoughts purred at the completed picture. Then I thought about how everything was picked solely to impress, to gain advantage, and I spat into the sink. I'd meant to do it on the floor, but I could not bring myself to defile such art, no matter its purpose. Even if my host was another of the world's endless bastards looking to get the most for the least _,_ I knew how to deal with people… how I should deal with people… _I thought I did_. My spirits sank to a new low.

Anyhow, there was an almost Jacuzzi sized tub singing a siren tune summoning me in. I considered hopping right into it, but I was drawn to the sink first, to rinse down my spittle.

And, to be honest, to take a look at myself.

The mirror, like everything else in the room, was huge, luxurious, and somehow not at all overdone. There were frosted vines of ivy climbing up the edges, framing the viewer.

The effect was beautiful; the person who looked back at me was not.

Even if I'd been at my best, I could not be described as beautiful, but at that moment I looked as if I'd walked out of a horror movie. I guess I sort of had…

My purple shirt was raggedly ripped in four parallel strips. I touched them and could almost feel the hand that had desperately made them. I shuddered and moved on. My gray zippered hoodie had survived in only slightly better shape. It was covered in burn marks and the left sleeve was charred up to the elbow. The overall effect was more gothic-fashionable than the death grasp remains on my shirt though.

However, it was my face which had changed the most drastically since my last self-inspection. My hair was back to its daytime gold but its curls had been replaced by strung out dry frizz and matting. I tentatively reached up to it and to my dismay felt several half-inch knots in that one palm width. Sleeping for three days after being in a storm does that; I dreaded having to brush it all out. _Couldn't this one thing have been easy?_

My round cheeks and nose were covered in small, rough scratches and ash. Nothing looked like it would scar, but I could have been wrong. My lip was still puffy despite the time it had had for the swelling to go down. Only one bushy brown eyebrow was visible, above my left eye was a gauze pad that had apparently been placed during my convalescence. The gauze stuck out further than it should've. From swelling I realized, and not from my prominent brow bone. Concussion certainly seemed a possibility, but after a quick internal scan for anomalous shadows I determined my hard skull had done its job. _Hard head had to be good for something_ , whispered a voice suspiciously like an old counselor.

At a glance, my amber eyes were undamaged. Physically. Emotionally they were deeper than they had ever been, more haunted, harder. It complimented the eternal sadness and solitude that had always been there, in a weird, depressing way. I doubted anyone else would be able to see the difference. Most people are terrible at reading eyes; they read the muscles that surround them, and the muscle had not changed. But the depths were there now, and probably would never go away. I carried the responsibility of my actions and the wounds of others'. _Besides, who still exists who has looked into your eyes enough to spot a difference?_

I couldn't hold my own stare for long—that was discouraging. I looked down at my scratched up hands and splashed cold water onto my face.

 _Time to get cleaned up._

First came the teeth. Of course there was a fresh toothbrush waiting for me, and it scrubbed off far too much night grime. Then I ran the tub, hot. While it filled I stripped and stepped into the shower to rinse off. The shower was for the body, the bath for my soul; both needed the wash. On a side note, I have no idea how many people think about this, but when you take a bath, if you haven't rinsed off, you're basically soaking in your own filth. It really is more for the relaxation element than anything. Anyways, I grabbed a washcloth, sudsed it up with… _wow there are a lot of soaps_ … lavender, and scrubbed. The water ran grey with cinders, then ruddy with old blood as I cleaned out the wounds my host hadn't been inclined to treat. I hadn't seen it in the mirror, but the fingers that had mangled the shirt had also broken skin. The soap stung, but its smell made it clear I _was_ finally and actually awake and also helped keep me calm through the process. I kneaded my hair a bit, to try and get the worst of the dirt out, and was again dismayed at the prospect of untangling it. I couldn't even get it wet all the way to my scalp… Internally, I let out the preface to a wail, but the water kept me for the most part mellow despite this set back. I saturated my hair with shampoo and conditioners as best I could and rinsed.

I shut off the water and shook like a dog, trying to stretch, escape my own skin; water flew off my damp locks and smacked the sides of the shower. One wall made a different sound and upon investigation, I found it was actually a sort of French door to the bath. _Lovely_ , I mentally sighed. The thought was sincere and simple, a pleasant contrast to the venom most of my thoughts were dripping. I opened the top part of the door and slid into the now full tub.

I had to practically swim over to the other end in order to shut off the water. As the last few drops fell, the cessation of sound echoed in the mists. There was a sort of chez lounge cast in the bottom of the tub and I settled onto it, contented in the moment, letting the water encircle me up to my neck. I trailed my arms around, luxuriating in the gentle, almost teasing resistance that gave way but never left me. Though I knew it wouldn't help the knot situation, I scooted forward and dipped the back of my head into the water, sweeping my hair through it, feeling the liquid groom me like fingers.

I purred. The water felt wonderful. And I hated that it did. My comparison to fingers was all too accurate. No one cared enough to do that for me. Nor would anyone now want to touch a monster.

 _Shhhh, don't ruin the moment._ I let the steam swirl around me, dusting my exposed lashes.

I sat in the tub until my fingers got so pruney each tip could feel itself, 43 minutes to be exact. The exact timing wasn't important, but I was pleased that once again I could tell. Again, it was a small joy made a minute crack in the hard shell that encased my heart.

It was time to get out. I reached for the heated towel rack and it buzzed angrily at me. The newly form crack recalcified shut just as quickly it had formed as I snatched a couple of admittedly wonderfully warm fluffy towels and drew away again. The growl stopped. I made a face that was barely short of a scowl. _That's back to normal too, I guess._ It wasn't that I was annoyed that this ability had returned so much as that yet another thing was objecting to my mere existence. Could anything be less fair, being forced to be alone either by other's obliviousness or fear? The only ones who had seemed to accept me had used me, which was twice as bad. And what was worse was, in the back of my mind, I wasn't sure I disagreed with the towel rack. Did I deserve to exist after my sins? Was my solitude warranted, what was best for the world and ultimately myself?

I couldn't force these questions out into the open; they camouflaged themselves in defensive outward anger which was easier by far to accept. The rack's growl returned and became a whine. Then a switch crackled, sparked, and the rack perished. _That's right, back down,_ I thought, feeling a spiteful pleasure at have been able to take my aggravation out on it. On something I'd been able to convince myself unequivocally deserved retribution.

Turning my back on my handiwork if not my roiling emotions, I wrapped one towel around my hair in a turban and the other around my body. It was a full bath sheet that gripped me around the chest and swung comfortingly around my calves. _Is there anything he doesn't think of?_ _Yes, the sheets weren't flannel._ _Well, good to know he doesn't know/guess everything?_ I stared at my pile of rags splayed dejectedly and haphazardly around the floor. For a second, I was almost as badly torn as the clothes. The outfit was filthy, and I didn't want to be remaindered of my actions. But I also didn't want to forget what I had done, I owed them that much, at least until I figured out for sure how I felt about it all. Should I have caused their deaths? Was I an aberration even if I should have? I felt guilt over the slaughter, yet somehow it still felt like it had been necessary. Once again the internal conflict I couldn't escape morphed into anger I directed at my host, who unless I missed my guess would provide a new ensemble for me; I didn't want to accept any more charity or be in debt to someone who clearly was out for something.

The issue of wardrobe didn't need to be addressed immediately, however. There was comb (and a variety of other hair styling devices I had no interest in) and some detangler _(thank goodness)_ on the counter which I grabbed before returning to the bed room.

There was, in fact, a new set of clothes set out on the bed, very formal and in purples and greys. Too dressy for the likes of me. I ignored it for the moment and plopped down on the bed, cross-legged. After a shake, my turban fell down and I reached back to try and split my hair in two, so that I could attack it on each side of my head. Even that small strike was a struggle, and required more ripping that I'd have liked. I set to work on the right side first, flinching all the while. Though it hurt, it was another pain I was accustomed to. When I was four and my mane started to get really long, Jemma had declared if I wanted to keep it, I'd have to take care of it myself, or else have her cut it short like hers. Obviously, I'd chosen the former. I started to smile at the memory of my early independence until reality punched me in the gut and I realized that that story showed how _she_ had been making less work for herself. _Okay, so I had to grow up and learn how to take care of myself, but still_ … After the initial revelation, all the past was cast in a calculated light. The quick succession of fondness, loss, and anger were too much and I yanked at the tangles until my scalp screamed. I took a deep breath, stopped thinking and instead flipped through smooth jazz songs on an imagined radio, continuing to unsnarl, gently.

An hour and 26 minutes later, my hair was finally knot free. It was a new record, but only by 14 minutes, I'm ashamed to admit.

I dressed. I couldn't bring myself to wear my old clothes, and the new ones fit perfectly, even the undergarments. But I pulled on my singed hoodie, as a memento and make me look more like myself and less like a paralegal. I stuck Hym and my harmonica, which I had removed from my pockets before the shower, into the cloth shoulder bag provided with the outfit. It was time to introduce myself to my host properly.

That would require collecting myself first. The bath had calmed me physically, but I feared that if I had to talk, the required diplomacy would not come easily, not when I couldn't be sure where I stood on the issue of the rest of the world. My usual meekness wasn't going to be a problem, not with a torrent of indignation a major player on my internal battle ground, seeking any channel of expression. I needed to steel myself before offending my host, even if he was just another manipulator.

 _Remember, all people are scum—_ that I could agree to — _and it doesn't matter.—_ That I wasn't so sure of— _You can't change it, and you have to stop forgetting it. Don't let him use you completely, and don't be mad at him for trying. It is just the way people_ are. _You have to chill and find out who this guy is, what's going on. But don't let him in. You don't have to like him, you just have to see what he can do for you. When in Rome, be as the Romans._ _I am only who I wish to be._ I responded with calm conviction, secure on the first piece of solid ground I'd found in my sea of questions and conflictions. _Yes, yes, but in order to protect that center, you must first get security; you don't have to mean it._ I meditated a moment and let the part of me that the world saw, that was a part of yet apart from me, a prison and a stronghold, come forward. It would anyways, I knew from experience. For once though, I actually wanted the extra layer of security, after the recent Trojan assault on my core.

Surprise surprise, someone was waiting for me when I eventually opened the door.

"Right this way, Miss."

I was led into a grand office, obviously meant to impress, but personalized, like everything I'd seen of this man so far. The floor was a dark hardwood with a smooth grain, and multiple pieces of art were displayed purposefully around the room. Most were famous paintings, but as always it was the sculptures that drew my attention. Most striking was a globe the size of a beach ball floating in a gold frame; all the countries were of a different colored stone, perfectly cut, and the oceans were deep Blue Bahia granite. The globe's frame rested on an Atlas, his bronze face contorted with strain. _Stunning_.

But even this masterpiece couldn't hold my attention once I saw her.

She was tucked into the corner, like an afterthought, like a naughty child, despite her beauty. She stood there in marble, nude and contraposto, one knee shyly sliding towards the other. Her right hand was placed casually but modestly in front of her. The other hand clutched an _old_ bronze robe that cascaded onto an amphora sitting on a stand. She gazed off into the distance, making everything around her seem gaudy.

I recognized her from one of my classes. An Aphrodite of Knidos. Actually, as I looked harder, I could feel the age radiating off her. She felt like she had seen at least a quarter of the Holocene. And she didn't have an awkward brace between her cloth and her leg as I had seen in every other recreation. _She's not one is she? She's THE Aphrodite of Knidos, lost to the ages_. _Right down to that "stain on her leg"…_ I felt my expression shift to one of appreciation and disbelief.

"I see you recognizer her. A true beauty, is she not? _One_ of the rarest pearls in my collection." He considered me thoughtfully, "You are somewhat reminiscent of her."

His casual voice yanked my mind if not my eyes back to the present and my resentment. _As if that could be true_. But it didn't sound like flattery. _Every compliment from another is flattery or sarcasm._ Still, I stored the complement away, involuntarily, as I had done with every card I'd ever received. Cards now lost to the flames.

I tore my gaze away from the goddess and studied my host and his stage. He sat at an enormous dark wood desk with a smoky quartz top. Adorning it was an artistic combination of small art pieces, papers, and desk items like a golden seal presses. _At the very least he has good taste_ , I thought almost impressed, but I already knew that. His chair was large, but not overly imposing, and behind him like a shadow—I would know—was the cyborg Mercy.

He saw the sour expression that still lingered on my face and expounded. "Truly, but we are not here to discuss your beauty—", the word had the same… texture as 'rarity', "—or my collection. Another time, perhaps; I'm certain it would be an enlightening conversation. Regretfully, business must take precedence in this instance. I could merely demand the answers I desire." His steely look matched his tone exactly and left no doubt that if he were determined to get answers, there was not one thing I could do to stop him. It was not something that should be possible. I was never forced, yet I had no doubt that it was truth, and that terrified me. "But what sort of host would that make me?" he added nonchalantly, as if he thought I would pretend not to have seen the threat. "Instead, I will offer you a question exchange, since in all likelihood you have a few." He smiled, but it didn't even reach the corner of his eyes, let alone their interiors. Mercy hadn't even blinked since I came into the room. "Shall you begin? I'm quite certain you're bursting with inquisitiveness. I only request that you ease us into this conversation—" that felt like interrogation, "—with one of your simpler questions."

I wanted to ask, 'How did you know where to find me? How was your timing so good? How have you had everything ready for me? And why why _why_?' _Why_ are _you taking an interest in me?_ And why are you giving me this structure; how do you know I'm conversationally inept? None of those were simpl though, and I wasn't sure I'd like the answers to them all. I pared down to a question I thought would cleverly get at the answer to the third, one that had literally been itching at me while I'd slept.

"Why were there no flannel sheets on the bed?"

"I was not aware you would want them, I'll remedy that immediately." He answered easily and coolly. Mercy's eyes flicked sideways for half a second, her attention momentarily displaced as she apparently conveyed his command. "What—" he began.

The vexation that had been building since I awoke jetted out, incensed by his casual dismissal. "That is _not_ an answer! How did you know I'd want honey nuts? How did you know to turn the light off in the car? How did you know I didn't think I could get in the car in the first place? How did you—"

"First: Kindly. Do not. Interrupt me." He said each word pair deliberately, with the harness of diamonds. Despite the fact that it was command laced with menace, it still came off as polite. It made my spine crawl. His face was stationary but his eyes were livid. "Second, that is more than one question, and none of them were of the caliber as I requested." Within the span of a breath he had calmed himself to a point that I thought I'd imagined his flare-up. Only the ghost of my spine tingling assured me I had not. "I will, however, allow you to reconsider your first question, if you so wish."

I gulped as an alternative to shying away from his too-well-suppressed wrath. _Hmmmm. '_ Why do you want to make a good impression on me enough to allow me to reconsider the question?' seemed like a good one, but… _I guess the most important question is_ …

"Can I trust you? And I'm sorry for my outburst," I added involuntarily.

He nodded acknowledgement of the apology. " _That_ is the sort of considerate question I'd expect. The answer is no. But you can trust me to answer honestly and to deal fairly so long as you do not cross me, and I see little opportunity for that. Such a limited trust should more than suffice for our association. Now, if you wouldn't mind, what happened three nights ago?"

I believed his answer, and strangely, it reassured me. It was good to know that this guy wasn't full of as much shit as most people I'd encountered. Even if he was a schemer, he was at least straight about it, for now. That was the sort of behavior you could rely upon.

Everything I had learned about him so far made antagonizing him the farthest thing from my mind, so I considered my own response carefully. He noted my contemplative expression and waited, fingers laced in his lap. His eyes barely gleamed with an intense curiosity that betrayed the polite interest of his voice; he called his visceral responses to heel near as well as his employees.

"Where exactly do you want me to start?" I didn't think he would be so ridged as to ignore my admittedly out-of-turn question and I was proved correct in my assumption.

"Let us first lay out the facts, the bones, of why you destroyed the…" His brow wrinkled, seemed he didn't have a name for it either, and was unused to having anything, even words, not be at his beck and call… "place of your most recent residency and how."

"That's two questions." I couldn't help but add. _You idiot, I just said don't antagonize him!_

"And I answered your clarification one before getting an answer myself. You owe me both." He had a point. I hate being out technicality-ed. Plus his patience at my impertinence would not last, despite his easy response. _Seriously, you should have just shut up. You should_ always _shut up_. _You opinions only make things worse, for yourself and everyone else._ _I know._

Complete silence would be disastrous now though. He expected an answer of me, and I knew what it was. But I didn't want to think about it. So I didn't, I just let the words spill from the past to the air, using my mouth as a conduit but detouring away from my mind.

"I don't know—wait, let me finish. I don't know why—" I couldn't say the name, not right now "—she changed; she didn't tell me what was going on. I guess that should have been a giveaway, but I didn't want to see it. But I knew anyways; I could feel her becoming more distant, more agitated. And it was towards me, specifically, it wasn't just general unease. I knew the difference, though there was that too. I didn't understand what I had done wrong. I hadn't done anything different, and she had always been steady. She was, was always there for me despite everything the world stands for—". _And look who I'm spilling my heart out to, the modern Machiavelli_ , I thought dismayed. But the leak in my dam of silence had become a current of words too powerful to resist without the intervention of thought, which refused to lend itself in any case. Words tumbled forth in a rush, "Despite everything I was… She was one of the few constants in an existence where things change, but never for the better.—What's the phrase 'The more things change, the more they stay the same?'—But she… wanted to pull away… I hoped it was in my head, I wanted it to be in my head, but when I went to talk to her about it, to assuage my paranoia… when I went to talk to her…" I had to stop to choke in a breath.

"Yes? What did she say?"

"I… I didn't end up talking to her."

I'd followed the string of tension that of late always trailed her, finding myself in the administrative area. "When I found her, she was talking to one of the minor office workers, someone I didn't talk to very often, someone who had never seemed all that important…"

"And…?"

"I think she was drunk," I whispered.

"What?!" He said more than aghast.

He understood. Thank god he understood. That this was not simply an issue of morality, of responsibility. This was just beyond comprehension. Jemma. Didn't. Drink. It wasn't that she had my revulsion against what alcohol did to a person, it just wasn't in her character. It wasn't something she would do. Wasn't who she was. Who I'd thought she was.

"I just stayed by the door, dumbstruck." I closed my eyes to hold the memory at mental arm's length.

When I didn't resume my narrative, the man's voice brushed away the image. "As contemptible as her irresponsibility was, surely that was not enough to… warrant such consequences as occurred."

"No." I paused, "But it was the catalyst, no going backwards." _Same as now_. I continued, "I was too stunned to leave. I got traces of the conversation. A relationship, a grandmother, more time. Not to make her leave just yet. That no one would take her after this... The worker, his register was too low, but the pitilessness carried through the air. She inhaled sharply then, before collecting herself, even in her stupor. 'Yes,' she said, 'it would be unthinkable. Who knows what the _yalda_ _shedim_ would do without a stable influence.'

"Those were the words. I still don't know what they mean." I looked up at him in desperation, "But I understood them, the revulsion that spawned them.

"I didn't think I just ran, sickened and hurt. I pushed it away at first; the important thing was I needed to get her back to normal, for her sake if not mine…" I'm not sure in retrospect for whom it was for, really, but I'd like to think it was for her… But there was no stopping my story. "So I acted normal when she came to see me. She'd sobered up by this time. I tried to be extra helpful, making dinner as she sat at the table. Chicken tika masala, with whole cardamom pods. Our dish.

"It seemed to bring her back to the person I knew, at least a bit. She put me to bed, said good night. Something she hadn't done for a long time, but I guess some of my distress had leaked through and she knew I needed the reassurance. And in a way it seemed to reassure her as well, to reaffirm that bond. Maybe? As I lay in bed I thought actually managed to fix things, for once.

"But, there awake, her words came back. The eerie words. The meaning behind them. That I needed to be contained. And then the 'That no one would take her after this _job._ ' Job? Job? I was her job?

"I mean, I knew she wasn't my mom, but she was… we were... I _must_ have just misheard. Misunderstood. Must be over thinking. _What was wrong with me?_ Others worked here. But she was… Sure she wanted to know about my abilities, but that was to help me. Because family wanted you to achieve your potential.

"If I had let it go, thing would be different now…

"But I couldn't do it, still couldn't sleep. I got up. Looked at the moon, for the comfort, but it just strengthened my apprehension." My heart had pounded, and I'd broken out in sweat. "Apparently I grabbed my harmonica and… and my wolf… some sort of preservation instinct, I didn't notice it at the time. I was oblivious to the world. I slid to the deeper office past the late workers, as only I can. To where the conversation had happened. I though… if there was proof of how wrong I was, it would be in the office. As I touched the cabinet, her other statement rang in my ears, 'No one will take me after _this_ job'. Not only was her job… something about it was a black mark on her future.

"It wasn't even hidden." The words clawed their way up my larynx. "First drawer I pulled." I stopped, unable to say the name allowed.

"Did you read it?" he questioned cooly.

"No," I said flatly.

I didn't get to reading the file; I understood its implications as surely as I had understood her unintelligible insult: to what was my _family_ , I was a Project, not a Person. The person I counted on when the world shunned me was only interested because I was an oddity… my harbor was only a cage.

"I slumped to the floor. In my devastation my concentration must have slipped, because people were at the door yelling, so they must have seen me. And then all I could see was a bright, glowing blackness, like I was about to pass out, except it kept going, and going. I was only aware of that sensation. When the world resolved itself again, the file was still in my hands, but everything else was burning, melting, or dead." I ended in a monotone, distant, before tailing off to myself, "And then you came."

He seemed satisfied with my answer, like I confirmed a suspicion of his. How he'd made that suspicion I had no idea, nor did I care. I still had no idea about anything, how he found me. I could have asked my question, but at that moment my curiosity was displaced with… quiet apathy. The bald man filled the hush.

"So you don't know what exactly happened between your discovery of the file and the aftermath of the destruction?"

"No." And it was truth. Even though _I_ knew that the black fire had been mine, the piece of me that was speaking, the automatic part, didn't. It hadn't been there and _I_ hadn't processed enough to let the general memo out. And no part of me really knew what happened. How my sweatshirt got burnt, or whose fingers had raked by stomach. Where the bruised forehead had come from. It wasn't worth the effort to lie. Between his simple compliment and my need to share my story, I'd bonded to this stranger, whatever the consequence. And they would be devastating when they came, that wasn't even a question.

My curiosity slunk back like a drugged cat. "How did you know about me, where to find me?" It seemed the initial one question rule had made way for the mechanics of conversation, because he answered straight.

"Like you, I found the file. It informed me that you were a covert project of Wayne Tech, a national technology company. I suppose exploring you was their first venture into biology; their motives were vague at best. Otherwise though, the file was quite extensive, which is how I was able to prepare my abode to your standards for your unexpected stay. In any case I, as a philanthropist, I thought their use of an unwilling, or at least naïve, subject was untenable. Thus I set out to correct the situation immediately; the unusual hour was of no consequence. However, when I arrived, I found direct intervention in your liberation unnecessary. It just happened to be good timing, though I suppose if I had gotten there earlier I could have spared you that nasty business." He smiled confidentially at me. I wasn't quite convinced of his story yet, but I wanted to buy it, wanted to count on him. That was his true talent, making people want to believe him.

"I see you still want to know how I found your file. As I've mentioned, I am a businessman as well as a philanthropist and Wayne Tech is one of my top competitors. I employ certain methods to keep up to date on their movements." This fit into the ruthless tycoon impression he'd made earlier. I looked around the room and saw certificates of generosity confirming his claimed philanthropist status. The businessman claim needed no external validation. For now, it was good enough for me. He had earned some degree of trust.

"And now the question I'm sure we both have is: what now? Any thoughts, my dear?"

"Not really." I sighed, "I'm still reeling. I was planning on going to college, before I found out that I didn't have a family to support me through it." The last part was bitter again, but more accepting and sad than defiant, as the thought had been earlier.

"Well, if I may make a suggestion?" I nodded. "I would be more than willing to help you pay through college. But, you seem like the type of person who does not readily accept charity." _A valid impression_. "I have a proposition that may be mutually beneficial: In addition to being a businessman and philanthropist, I am a member of an organization whose goals are… to disrupt the status quo. The undesirable products of the human race are allowed to continue existence and poison society. Subservient to corrupt, inept governments and… other powers. And they insist on continuing their counterproductive behavior even when unsupervised, unprompted. It simply will not do for this passivity to continue; the human race was meant for better things. Even as the generations are replaced, as you yourself said, 'the more things change, the more they stay the same. I'm sure you've seen it on small scale." I thought of all the bastards who harassed me during my brief stint at school, or as bad, ignored me. And not just to me, who even by my reckoning they had reason to label an outcast, but people were horrible to each other, and to themselves. Tearing each other apart with fists and words. And people just looking on, not caring. Everyone not feeling, yet somehow so submissively miserable. And for no reason other than that it was the way things were. "My organization seeks to end this cycle of static decline and allow humanity to advance to the glory that is its right."

I couldn't believe it. This guy. This guy who _was_ the beneficiary of the system… saw it for what it was. Unfair, unproductive, intolerable. And though he benefited, he truly wanted the change. He saw the larger gains that could be achieved through intervention—and not just for himself—and he wanted them. I saw it in the intense, sever, sincerity of his cold eyes. He wasn't like me, a victim, but he was with me, the first ally I had ever known on this issue so essential to my core. It was the relief that pushed out, "What exactly do you want me to do?"

"In order to achieve these ends, my organization is highly invested in technology that can improve the human race. We do all that we can, but unfortunately there are other parties, such as Wayne Tech, that develop technology that undermine our efforts, or alternatively technology they refuse to use in the most productive fashion. I would like you to infiltrate their facilities and appropriate some of these items."

I considered it carefully, wanting to comply, but I saw too many problems. "I don't know if I can be of use. I don't get on with technology particularly well; I might destroy what you want me to get. And… I can't see myself as part of anything which might… eliminate more people. It seems I tried that solution, and… I'd rather not again." I said disheartened.

"To address your first concern, you would most likely be obtaining formulae or blueprints, not the actual products themselves. Should something more complicated be necessary I'm sure something could be arranged. More importantly may I assure you that despite our grand plans for the human race we have no intention of mass eradication! Merely improvement. And improvement requires what others are selfishly keeping to themselves. I can see you are slightly concerned of the moral implications of your future role. Think of yourself not as a thief, but as Robin Hood. Besides, your little display earlier is clear evidence that you would like _some_ form of vengeance on the people who manipulated you; this is a less fatal solution."

Assuaged, I reviewed. It was a good deal. College, helping dismantle the established routine of society, retribution, and honestly (guiltily), getting to fully stretch out my abilities for a cause I believed in, not because my _family_ insisted. Though I was potentially entangling myself in this man's machinations and would eventually pay the price, in the short term I could see no downside. "May I accept the offer on a trial basis? Like, if it doesn't work out, I'm not good at it, I can stop?"

"All I can ask is that you try, my dear. I am confident that you will do the right thing, for yourself and for the greater good. We will work out the exact details of the arrangement later." He held out a hand and we shook on it. It was only later that I realized he hadn't actually said yes; he distracted me with something of more importance.

"One final item of business: What is your name?" I stared at him. There was no way he could have read a file on me, known all my personal preferences, and not know my name. Then it dawned on me; he was giving me a chance to name myself, start over. My old name had fit me so poorly I'd only ever used it for official purposes anyways. Jemma almost always called me Gixie. I took the opportunity.

"Fia." It fit me as comfortably as my now ruined sweatshirt. Wait, I needed a last name too. "–Sullivan….And yours?"

"I preferred to be called 'Sir'." Oh. _I thought we were on a name-to-name basis. But yeah. Just because I am irrationally trusting to someone I just met against all my best judgment doesn't mean he has to._ And I could have looked at some of the papers and certificates around there, but it wouldn't have been the same. My disappointment must have been evident—usually I was better at hiding this sort of thing. I guess all of my suppression abilities were still burned out— he relented.

"My name is Alexander Luthor." It was his name. He _was_ telling the truth, but not all of it.

I followed my instincts and asked, "What about Lex?" That fit better. Alexander was like a thrift store cast off; Lex was tailor-made like his suit.

He grimaced, but saw little point in hiding what I knew to be truth. "Yes, that is what I usually go by, when people use my name. Truly, though I do not appreciate being directly referred to."

"Fair enough. Thank you. Sir." Though the address was grating, I smiled, as close to genuinely as I had in… ages. I had a plan, a new name, and a new life. In that moment, it was everything I needed to move forward.

"My dear, the pleasure is mine."


	3. 3: New Bee-ginings

**AN: Sorry for the delay, was on spring break.**

Chapter 3

I settled relatively quickly, for me anyways, into my new life. That is to say it only took me about four months to get situated and somewhat secure. I'll spare you the minutia and try to stick to the Reader's Digest version of that time. As much as I can, I like details… but I don't like to remember that time.

I went back to… the compound, I'll call it— after a few more days of recuperation and detail sorting. Evidently Lex's (I presume, I didn't want to ask) men had cleaned up the area. Except for a few piles of newly churned earth, it seemed as if the site hadn't been used in at least 50 years. I had gone because I felt the need to say goodbye. Even though everything I thought of it had been was a sham, for a too brief time it had been a home to me, and a home isn't something you can lose without grief. But I couldn't do it; I wasn't ready for closure and I ended up just walking away and going back to the mansion.

I was enrolled at Ivy University. Its small, tree filled campus nestled in the Finger Lakes resounded with my impression of what home had been. As much as I hated most change, weather was an exception and the unpredictable climate of the area was something I couldn't leave; I'm a New England girl, through and through, but this little NY town was close enough to the right atmosphere.

Plus, the school colors included purple.

Before attending, I completed my first—heist sounds wrong…— assignment on a little outpost in New Hampshire. I was in and out without any complications. They didn't even notice for three days, or at least that's how long it took for the story to make it to the news, and I only found it because I was looking. It gave me a strange sense of pride. If you're going to do something morally questionable, you might as well do it right, and I reveled at even a small blow to my former keepers.

I felt even better after examining the plans I'd pinched; it was a design for a water purification and distribution system that was relatively cheap to make and only slightly implausible. I imaged the technicalities could be worked out quickly today, yet the plans' last work date was over 15 years ago. If they had forgotten about it, why shouldn't Lex's organization be able to make use of it? Wasn't there some law like that, about patent expiration or something?

Anyways, the whole thing was barely a blip on the radar, and the job paid my tuition for a year, with a bit left over.

The actual start of college was more tumultuous. It took me some time to get situated, even though, as I said it was a relatively short time for me. I got lost a lot, I didn't really feel like doing any work even though I liked my classes, I spent most of the time _not_ getting lost up on my lofted bed, feeling like a treed cat. The people were relatively kind, as kind as could be expected. I was used to that. I almost regained what little faith in humanity I'd had before…all that. Almost believed that at least on a superficial level, if I treated others as I wanted to be treated, they would return the favor. I might have regained this faith, had it not been for my roommate.

It wasn't that she was mean to me; that would have required continuous knowledge of my existence. I didn't even want to necessarily interact with her. I wanted to coexist, which required mutual acknowledgement of one other, and she acted like she owned the room. She wasn't in it very much, but that just made me anxious about her return, made me feel like an intruder in my own space. When she was in the room, it was usually in order to study from 2 am to 5 am, after the library closed. With the lights on. It didn't physically hurt, because during this period I was blending—hanging out as a shade would have been counterproductive—but I _was_ working hard at school and wanted to sleep.

She also would occasionally stay up late watching some show or another and either cackle hysterically or exclaim, "No! NO WAY!" And then I'd ask her what that was all about and she'd look right through me before focusing in with a confused expression, like she hadn't known I was there and say, "Oh you wouldn't get it." And then go back to doing it. If I asked her again, there was the exact same confused response. Not a "Why are you asking again?" response, but a "There's someone else in the room with me?" response. I don't know which part was more upsetting, the non-stop irritating noises or the proof that I didn't exist.

She never talked to me. I could have asked after her, started a conversation, but there didn't seem to be a point. Most of what I know about her I knew because she talked on the phone with her mom a lot. She never stepped out of the room, and at best it was because she didn't know I understood Spanish, even after I commented on her conversation one time. In short the environment was uncomfortable if not hostile. Particularly after I was sexiled (a term I learned specifically because of this incident) at 5pm on a Monday. That resulted in an altercation I may never forgive.

I will share just one more specific little anecdote. My roommate was not a substance user (I don't want to know what that would have been like), but her friends were. They'd come by high while I was working and deep in concentration and they'd rap on the window, yelling for my roommate. Scared me shi—stiff. So my roommate opens the window, and this cloud of weed smoke comes pouring into the room, and of course it doesn't stay on her side—the room was never officially separated, but there was a strictly obeyed imaginary divider, in her favor. So then I am forced out of my room by the smell for two hours. Then I come back and I'm tired because I hadn't slept well the previous night because she had been studying with the lights on. And what do I find? She is straightening her hair to 'go out'. So now the room smells like burnt hair and I'm still on edge from the last episode. After she goes out, I kind of… whatever-the-hot-equivalent-of-a-snowball-is-ed. Picked up steam, maybe?

Thoughts roiled like hurricane waves as I hit my breaking point. I directed all my frustration at the hair straightener (which was still plugged in, major fire hazard) since I could not direct it at the object's owner, and the thing started spitting sparks.

Which just made the room smell like burning plastic.

The acrid smell pierced my frustration, made me deflate. I was left feeling hollow and alone. I made sure nothing was actually on fire, mixed up some herbs to call the lilac sheep, which I privately called Zzzz's, and stuck some tissues up my nose to block the various burning smells. The moral: people really aren't worth it, but what was? However, I still haven't let the incident go.

Even if my situation wasn't worth reprisal, I could only bear living in a space where I was emotionally backed into a corner for so long. I transferred into a single in substance free. It was a small room, maybe 75 feet squared, with aging wall paper and tiled floors. But I tried to think of it as cozy and it… it was _mine_. Without a roommate constantly reminding me of my invisible status, I was able to let my battered essence seep into the space in a way I had been afraid to do with others around. I made do with what little money I had left to let glow-in-the-dark stars dance across my ceiling, and was able to drag in a factory reject carpet to pad my footsteps. I did a puzzle and framed it, my sole piece of art, both for something to do and as a reminder that sometimes… things have a spot, if you look for it. Finally, I hung a dream catcher I'd made over my head on the slanted ceiling, claiming the heart of the room: the bed of midnight purple flannel sheets I'd splurged on, tucked in the corner, with Hym, every night waiting for me on my pillow.

Even with my efforts, it still felt bare and empty, only slightly lived in. A true reflection I suppose. I wrote about it, and tucked the poem under my mattress, too embarrassed even without anyone around to put it up:

 _Sad little nest,_

 _Sad little nest,_

 _Made of snapped twigs and pieces_

 _Of an old broken life_

 _Sad little nest,_

 _All that's left_

 _To hold the storm at bay_

 _To keep the candle flame alive_

 _All that's left to watch it fade away_

 _Sad little nest_

 _Little more than_

 _An old doll and some flannel sheets_

 _Still you'll have to do,_

 _As there's no safety left but you._

The knowledge I'd have to dismantle even this modicum of shelter at the end of the year stalked around the edges of my mind.

Still, it was a true base to return to and it made the second semester easier. Made me more comfortable in poking a toe out of my comfort zone, looking for those few who were not quite as shallow as the herds, knowing I'd have a place on which to fall back when I failed. I went to a few events and even began speaking in class.

I was walking back to my room after a biology class in which I had actually participated. The professor had done a presentation of an article as an example and I asked a complex question about his reasoning. He hadn't thought about it and was impressed that a student had. I had just gotten beyond the classroom doors and was feeling pretty good about myself; pride is an excellent substitute companionship.

"Hey! Those were some fine biological instincts you showed there. How have I not met you?" The speaker was a young black woman with a pixie cut and bangs sweeping just above her oaken eyes. She wore simple garnet stud earrings which complemented her cinnamon completion. On the whole her voice had a quick-clip cadence to it and a very mild urban accent, yet it was warm and interested. It was a car on a long trip, paying attention to the traffic patterns around it but more engaged in its own trajectory.

There was something else there, buried in the rhythms… distance. She was interested, but it was generalized to everything, not to me; that's where the clip came from—the distal most tuft of each word drifted away from her. It didn't make her unfocused, just spread out.

Frankly, I only picked this up subconsciously and didn't put a words to it 'til much later; I was just glad to be noticed and praised. She smiled and shuffled her papers. I didn't recognize her, by sight or impression, which wasn't surprising, but she gave off an almost overpowering vibe of one of those rare people who are popular, intelligent, and somehow beyond all probability, genuinely interested in the world at large. She finished her question with a laugh built into the words, in reference to how large the school was, not expecting a serious answer. I gave her one.

"I don't like to talk much." I shrugged meekly, strangers still being out of my sphere of comfort. _I don't like drawing the attention of people who always let me down._

"Well, you totally should! You've got a good brain in yo head, and the mind is a terrible thing to waste.

"I don't think you do, though," she added thoughtfully, startling me with strangely apt perception. "Hey, listen, I have class in like 5 minutes over in Wolfman, but we should _definitely_ do this again!" She rushed off in the direction of said building, waving goodbye and chuckling at my bewildered but soft countenance. _Do what again?_ She'd acknowledged my intelligence and my presence, which was something I could certainly stand to have happen more often. I tried to cement her details into my memory.

Part of the reason I stopped trying to connect with people is that I'm terrible with name-to-faces, and it was embarrassing and hurtful on both sides when I forgot. Better usually to just leave things be, but I would make an exception and try to commit her to memory since she made the effort.

Thoughts of a research paper due the next day interrupted my consolidation process and I switched mental tracks. The contented feeling of friendliness stayed with me for the rest of the day though, and made the flipping through pages of archaic text slightly less unbearable. This may seem a bit anti-social—coldhearted even—of me, but work was one of those constants of the universe that kept me going through everything.

I didn't see her in Bio when it was held two days later or the class after that, though I specifically looked for her. I certainly could have missed her; it was a big class and I'd only seen her once. It seemed like the encounter was going to be another one of those freak incidents that were pleasant but evanescent.

Next day at the Caf I was looking for an empty table to sit at, as usual. I had stayed a little late to ask a question of the professor and as such the lunch rush had beaten me. The odds of finding a hassle free spot to sit were firmly between slim and none.

As such, I looked for the next best thing: a relatively large table occupied sole by someone trying to ingest a textbook more than his/her food. Odds were someone like that was about to have a test and wouldn't want any more of the basic social niceties than an "may I sit?" from me. _Hmmmm… textbooks yes, but clearly a group study session… He's just reading the paper, might think I wanted to talk if I were to sit down…._ One girl sitting alone by the ketchup caught my eye though she lacked a textbook… dark complexion, pixie cut… _Is it? Maybe? Can't tell…_ Then I spotted the garnet earrings and my confidence went from 40% to 95%, well with range for acting upon.

 _Go up to her, she's shown interest, what are you afraid of?_ _Yeah, but what will I say?_ _How about 'Hi! Remember me?_ _Too awkward._ _No it isn't! When are you going to get this opportunity again? I know there is no convincing you when there are multiple people at a table but it's just her! You need a friend, just try?_ I took a step towards the table, but a muscular black man with a nearly shaved head sidled into the seat next to her. _It's still only two people, you can handle that. Don't go turtle_. I took another step forward, but something about their interaction made me pause. Her greeting was unexceptional, standard eye contact, smiling unconcernedly. He stretched in his chair and grinned in return. The two chatted casually and quietly as they tuckered into their food. Nothing interesting to the casual observer.

To me, their body language was speaking volumes. Both of them were utterly relaxed, and unconsciously tilted towards each other, reacting in synchronicity to the other's movements. There was no handholding, no physical contact, but sparks flew between them, and to me, their eyes literally sparkled with every glance.

 _Oh_.

No, I wouldn't interrupt that. I didn't know if they knew they had something, but it was substantial to me. In some ways, I think connections like that are more apparent to the people who are looking in from the outside. I would leave them to their moment, and spare myself the awkwardness of introductions and the constant aching reminder of something beautiful I could never have.

Before thinking me a defeatist, a fatalist, allow me review the facts. I had so far made no friends in college. I had to bully myself into talking with _one_ person who had already shown a friendly, offhand interest. I believed that the vast majority of the people were sheep and/or vicious bastards and the rest were selfish egocentrics with few exceptions. Not to mention my history wasn't exactly table conversation. So, to summarize, I was too shy to show interest, too disillusioned to believe they might actually care, and had too many secrets to sustain the sort of obviously honest relationship these two had. Don't tell me I could have done something, because it'd be like trying to change the rotation of the Earth; too much momentum in the wrong direction.

So I let the couple be and went to find my own quiet, peaceful corner of the Caf.

She tracked me down a few days later.

"Hey! I know that was really awkward the other day, and then me not showing up for class and all, must have seemed like a ghost!"

"No, you were busy, very reasonable."

"I'm Karen."

"Fia." I muttered, realizing this was my first introduction (name tags etc. having sufficed up to that point).

"Sofia?" She asked, thinking she misheard me.

"Just Fia."

Her face creased in mild confusion, but she covered quickly by continuing with conversation. I don't have a clear memory about what was said after that. We walked together to the campus center, got some snacks, and talked about biology for a while. Something about action potential signaling and potential advances in bio-mechanical integration. I'm not sure if it was because of our initial encounter or because she somehow knew I could go on about it, but in any case her choice in topic drew me out of my shell. Somehow, over that conversation, we became friends. Not best friends, but definitely more than I had with anyone else on the campus. I wish I could have pinned down exactly how, because I seriously needed to learn and apply this basic skill more often.

Too soon she had to rush off; she was assisting in Professor Palmer's molecular physics lab. She promised to take me with her after she'd checked with her boss when I showed interest.

"Oh," she added as she was getting up. "What's your number? I don't want to have to rely on chance again to see you again; I was shopping that bio class."

"Um… I don't actually have a phone…" _Crap_. How was I supposed to explain that in this day and age? _You sound like and old foggie._ _Shut up_ _._ I mean, I could have had a phone if I wanted one, but there was no one to call and I risked shorting it out. I didn't own a computer for that matter, and regularly used the college ones. Having advanced technology on my person where it would be exposed to my every mood swing was not a wise course of action. Fortunately she came up with a plausible explanation for my technological deficiency before I had to.

"What!? No cell phone? Between that and your name, were you' parents hippies or something?"

 _Well, that works._ It'd be lying though, and I didn't want to outright lie to my new friend. But keeping thing hidden and lying are different. So instead I muttered. "I have an unconventional family dynamic." _True enough._

"Hmmm," she mused sympathetically. "Well, then what's your room number, I'll stop by. Or figure out a carrier pidgin system or something," she joked.

I smiled on the inside at her joke and gave her the information, "314 Glen-King."

"116 Feynman, if you ever want to stop by! See you later!" she said as she walked off.

"Enjoy lab!" I forced out, awkward as anything.

"How could I possibly not!" She shouted merrily over her shoulder, oblivious to my gracelessness.

Our friendship grew rapidly for a time, blooming out of our mutual love for the sciences, but it began to asymptote out below 100% on the vertical confidence axis. It hovered around 80%, which was by no means shabby, though. I met her boyfriend, Mal, the one she'd been sitting with that day in the Caf. At first it was almost unbearable to be around both of them. There was so much chemistry between them, combined with my natural social anxiety. But as I got to know Mal as a person and not solely as her boyfriend, it became easier to hang out altogether. He had sense of humor as rich as his voice, was easy to tease and slow to anger.

I also started working part time at Professor Palmer's lab. He didn't have enough money or enough work for two fully paid assistants, so I only showed up when they asked. They were working on comparing some new synthetic materials to a fragment of a white dwarf star. The fragment had some as of yet unstudied quantum effects on 'constants' such as mass. Though I couldn't add much to the quantum aspects of the study, a few of my hypotheses on the effects of the new substance on biological material proved to be sound jumping off points. An extra set of hands can also come in… _handy_ in the laboratory.

When I wasn't helping out I did homework or threw Frisbee with Mal and let him vent about how much time Karen spent working. His dedication to her and admiration of her intelligence and work were never in question, but I could appreciate his frustration at being unable to reach her on this academic level. It resonated with my relative inability to connect to anyone. Don't get me wrong, Mal was in no way thick; he was simply more passionate about history. Future and past, opposites attract sometimes I guess.

Karen and I were studying on a Saturday night in my room, which was unusual for several reasons. One: Usually if we studied together it was all three of us, but tonight Mal had a boy's night out or something. He'd been particularly vague, which was disheartening because so many time he _had_ told me something or another, but I lost the details, so I was really trying to focus in and remember his agenda at the time. Two: when we did study together it was rarely on a Saturday night; Karen and Mal tended to have busy weekends, I didn't know exactly what they did. Maybe date night? And in any case, why study on a Saturday, the first day of the weekend? Well, Karen said she had a long commitment at the lab on Sunday and wasn't going to have time to prepare for the Monday exam otherwise. Three: When we did study together, it was often in Karen's more spacious room or in the library. Karen had seen my room before, but she hadn't been inside much, so tonight she'd decided to mix it up and work over here.

So as a consequence of these unusual circumstances there we were. We studied diligently for an hour and a half or so, just enjoying the presence of another human. Then Karen started getting fidgety. Nothing remarkable at first, she was on the bed, I was in the hard, utilitarian desk chair that came with the room. She'd sit up, then lie down, then roll over onto her side, then sit cross legged. Finally she gave up and closed the book.

"If I have to read one more page of Freud, my eyeballs are going to fall out. Guy had some serious issues."

"Hmm," I muttered noncommittally. I was focused on studying for my Cognitive Psych class. It's amazing how many theories there are on the mechanisms of simple mental activities such as short term memory.

"Seriously, we're young, we're—" 'I'm "—beautiful, it's Saturday night, let's go out and have some fun!"

Other than the fact that " _Saturday Night's Alright_ " started playing in the way back of my head, I didn't really register what she said, and she knew this. It didn't bother her; she knew if I'd been paying attention I'd say "I don't go out," as I had many times before. She continued as if I'd agreed with her absurd plan, undeterred.

"Let's see, I know exactly what I would wear, but what about you." Out of the corner of my eye I saw her put a thoughtful finger to her lips. "Let's see what's behind door number one." She bounced off the bed and over to my closet, which was a good size compared to the room. She pushed aside the curtain that hung in front of the wardrobe and began to flip through hangers. "Sweatpants, sweatpants, sweatpants. More sweatpants. Purple shirt, different purple shirt. Another purple shirt. Don't you have anything other than purple shirts in here?"

"There are some blue shirts farther back, _maybe_ a dress or two" I answered automatically, still focused on my book. I heard her dig for the aforementioned items. _How interesting. So is short term memory limitation based on decay or interference? And how would you know? That experiment is pretty good evidence for decay, but I'm not sure I could answer with the 100% accuracy that they claim. And then there's that Waugh and Norman study that suggests interference. But you could never actually test interference because it's impossible to have a lack of interference, time moves forwards. Wait… what did I just say to Karen?_ I replayed the echoic memory. _Wait, that's where my—_

"What in the _world_ is this?!" Karen exclaimed, holding up the partially burnt sweatshirt.

 _Frig_. I thought, all traces of the Cog Psych book forgotten. _Stay cool_.

"Just an old sweatshirt."

"It's burnt, and it's hidden in the back of the closet. Like hell its' just an old sweatshirt." She retorted.

"I don't want to get into it."

"Come'on, please don't go all mysterious and quite on me. I'm you' friend, talk to me. It'll help." I didn't answer and she added, "What's to be afraid of?"

While I contemplated how to hide that better in the future, my lips pressed together, in thoughtfulness, not in outright refusal. I wanted to tell her, get it off my chest to someone who _might_ care, but the whole story was too much. Perhaps I could prune the tale back to something slightly more 'normal' while preserving the tragedy it represented. I sighed, resigning myself to an attempt at forging a deeper bond.

"It's was in the…"— _disaster I caused, no I can't say that—_ "the accident"— _close enough to the truth_ — "that killed my…"— _keepers_ , _no,_ _closest approximation to that is_ —"…parents last year. The car slipped on some ice and went over the barrier. Set on fire before authorities arrived." I said in distanced, carefully chosen words.

"Oh, my God. I didn't know. We don't have to get into it." Sympathy radiated from her, but not empathy. Honestly, how could she empathize with so much falsified in the tale? Yet I knew it _was_ possible.

"It's okay, I'm over it." _Liar._

"Liar," said Karen, echoing my thoughts. _Yes, but not for the reasons you think._

"Yeah. But I don't like to think about it. I'm not ready to process it yet." I said half blindly, half tersely.

She backed off respectfully. "We should still go out tonight, you're room's a little stuffy with all this morose talk. That and the guy downstairs who keeps his heater at like, 90 degrees." She said airily, trying to lighten the mood.

This time I did answer her. "No, I don't like going out."

"Do you mind if I be brutally honest?"

"When aren't you, but go ahead anyways." I sighed more of a resigned consent than the affectionate tease I'd intended.

"You, my friend, are a lonely person. I want you to be happy, but you need _to go out and meet people_."

"Bee, I know, I just, can't okay?"

"Can't, why not?—Wait, did you just call me Bee?"

"Yeah, should I not have?"

"Mal didn't call me that when you were around?"

"Not that I remember… it just suits you."

She laughed. "It must, because that's what my high school friends call me! But seriously, girl, why don't you ever go out?"

"It's a long story." _Not that I can tell all of it._

"That just means it deserves telling."

"You won't understand."

"Give me a chance; I'm not going to let this go until you do."

She spoke the truth. I sighed and began reluctantly, "I was home schooled, until seventh grade; my family didn't want me to be in the school system. But they realized I could use the socialization." Close enough to accurate. _Probably should have realized that earlier, considering how bad my skills are still_. "I was nervous; I'd read books, but until that point I'd never spent any amount of time around people other than my family. People my own age. I didn't fully appreciate what friendship could be," _Never felt the bonds of naïve affection, the shield of friendship that muted the troubles of the world._ Seeing that, feeling that in others, it brought into focus that which had always been my closest companion, never fully resolved into coherency. _Solitude, the eternal gift of the void._ It had never bothered me, until I saw it in such sharp contrast. "That's the one thing school taught me that I couldn't learn at home. I made friends in time, it wasn't instantaneous." _What I'd thought were friends…_

Unaware of my thoughts, Karen smiled patronizingly at my statement of the time course. The expression said, 'of course it wasn't instantaneous, it isn't for anyone. But go on'. So I did, "Even though I could never have anyone home, my family let me go out with my new friends once a month. I was happier than I'd been since I found my favorite author…

"At least until ninth grade. High school and the explorations that came with it."

"'S normal." Karen said skeptically.

"I realize that, but, I was… startled when I was invited to _that_ sort of party."

"You got a rebel streak in you, somewhere, when you're passionate about something. I'd thought you'dda jumped at the opportunity to be free of you parents." I don't know what bothered me more, the fact that she'd assumed I'd found my 'parents' controlling, or the fact that she was referring to them that way within an hour of my establishing that they'd 'tragically died'.

"I don't like restrictions that don't make sense. It makes sense to keep minors away from alcohol," I rebuffed. "The age limit may be arbitrary, but the developing brain's susceptible to its long-term deteriorative effects."

"Those only happen with prolonged exposure."

"You think I don't know that?" I angrily shrugged off her assumption that I didn't know my clinical science. "Anyways, that wasn't the problem." _Not entirely anyways_.

"What was?"

"I went to that party; I was willing to see what was going on, what the attraction was. It's possible I was willing to give it a go, I don't remember." Doubtful, but possible, and it might make her understand more. _Might._

"But I wasn't going to go first, not when I wasn't sure what to expect."

"Everyone else… just seemed to know what it was going to be like, to be 'tipsy'. But I had no idea so I waited and watched. Things started out fine…" I paused, unsure of how to convey the next part. What had happened was that fairly quickly, the presence of some of my 'friends', that I recognized and relied on, that identified each as an individual and made me comfortable around them—that _flickered._ The people around me weren't quite the people I'd known anymore; their minds were masked and altered. Everything felt wrong. Slimy, grimy, like undone dishes. Everyone's feelings of 'merrymaking' made my head spin.

But that was only something I could sense, not something I could explain without sounding insane.

"Some of my friends started acting weird." _They weren't just acting weird, they were off, they weren't themselves._ "And I said as much. People at the party, people I didn't know, said this was normal, and that they'd be fine; give it an hour. But…

"Their behavior scared me." _Would they come back?_

"Sweet of you to worry, but totally unnecessary,"

 _Wrong answer._ "It was super uncomfortable, okay?"

"The irony is that if you'd had a bit yo'self, you wouldda relaxed and seen it wasn't so scary," _Strike two_. This was why I never told this story. Other than that there was no one to tell it to.

"I didn't want to lose control." _Didn't want to lose myself like they were_.

She had the sense not to say a single drink wouldn't make me drunk. "I can respect that, but I still don't see why this put you off partying so bad."

"I lost people after that. They stopped caring about the consequences, the fact that they weren't themselves at parties. They changed. It wasn't just at parties that they were different, they became different people…"

"That's called growing up, people grow apart." Karen tried to soothe. As ignorantly as it was futile.

 _That doesn't make it any easier._

She continued with no concept of how her words had been received, "If you'd been more social and gone out more, you might have found people who were more compatible with you."

I lost my temper instead of collapsing in disillusionment. "I _did_ , but each time hurt a little more. Each time being forced to see people getting drunk and losing their identity and inhibitions and defiling their minds. Even the people I didn't know, it was just… abhorrent! The more I went, the more I _felt_ the consequences of people being so disrespectful to themselves. Voluntarily carving out pieces of personality, when they were already so hollow, leaving only empty shells. It was unbearable." _Too close to the truth._

But I couldn't stop the tirade, "A perversion, a desecration, of what should be a beautiful thing. Making sport of something that should be treasured."

"Maybe I should just give up my ideals. Go with the flow, stop being left behind. Seems to work for everyone else, make them happy- I can't do that! That's who I am.

"It's all I have."

I ended harshly, so quiet I wasn't sure if it was distinguishable from a mumble. By the end of the year I'd fled back to the arms of Isolation, rocked and comforted by that shadow of my mind. Why was I trying to leave that safety now? I'd be recoiling from the attempt all too soon.

"Fi, you don't have to drink at parties and social thangs, you can just go and have fun." Karen tried gently. She heard me, sensed my conviction, but she couldn't understand the depth of my words, didn't get the point; they were on a frequency she couldn't register. Elsewise she would have understood how ludicrous her suggestion was.

Elsewise her response to my plea would have been, "You have me". I made one last halfhearted, yet somehow desperate, attempt to get through to her.

"Think about it, even here. All the events that aren't just a party, you go with your friends. I've gone, but I always go alone, you and Mal aren't ever available to go to these things, and you can't imagine how painful it is. I've sat down at a table, but I'm an outsider, ignored, shunned. I try to enter a conversation with people I've seen around campus, and they look at me like I'm a parrot and keep on talking like I hadn't spoken. Sometimes, I repeat myself three or four times, and they don't even hear me! _That_ is how the world operates. At this point going out is just pouring lemon juice in the knife wound." My words were tight, and my eyes fixed on the balled fists in my lap, trying to keep my acrimony in check, though it was the only thing holding off my despair at her lack of understanding.

Karen left the closet sat on the bed across from me. I had the decency to look her in the eye, giving her one last conduit to connect with me. The bubble around me remained unbreached.

"It's okay. I understand." She didn't, but at least she was making an effort to be sympathetic. Bless her that was more than most people did. I wanted more from her, but this is all she could give, and I could appreciate her for that, I had to. But it hurt being so close to making the bond I craved and it being utterly impossible. I wanted to move next to her and put my head on her shoulder, feel the comfort of contact, but I couldn't. It would have been like trying to embrace a ghost.

Because though she was trying to be understanding, trying to comfort me, under that… she didn't believe me. Didn't believe I could truly feel the way I felt, didn't believe I could actually be so totally ignored and isolated as I was. I hated being able to feel what she did, or in this case, didn't. And I hated her, just a little, for making me hate something I usually loved about myself.

She continued, unaware of my anguish, "Only some of the world is like that, we'll find a place for you. Or one of your other friends will. Stay positive." She thought I had other friends here, how could she think that?…I gave up.

"I'm sorry for…" _…expecting too much of you_ , "I'm just not ready to let go yet." _I can resign myself, I can't accept. Can't settle. Can't expose myself to any more of reality than this. Can't get through to you._ I signed sharply, scrubbing at my face.

"Girl, I wouldn't have you any other way." She said in a tongue-in-cheek way which let me know she was serious. The words had the seeds genuineness I craved, but the soil was barren.

She switched tactics, "Hey, let's go out bowling. Take some of this negative energy and direct it against some pins, standing there all, 'look at me all pristine and lined up like a conformist'." Tempting. Better to take out all this rawness on pins than let it simmer to the point that I did something stupid. _But…_

"I still really should be studying for this exam."

She gave me an un-amused look. "I know you have every page of that textbook photographically memorized by now. Any more studying and you'll start leaking out the information you already have. I need a break, and so do you whether you know it or not."

I glanced out the window to confirm my impression that the night was cloudy. No risk of unintentionally transforming. "Hmm," I assented, "Be warned, I tend to throw backwards almost as often as forwards." I said with a falsely evil laugh that masked my sorrow.


	4. 4: Exploratory Encounters

Chapter 4

"Hey, Mal and I are gonna go see that new zombie romance movie tomorrow night, wantta come?"

"Yeah, that sounded like it was going to be really good," I sighed, "but I can't. I've got a field trip to Gotham for my Industry and Science class and they said we might not get back until as late as nine if the traffic's bad and then I've got a paper due."

"Workaholic. Maybe another time?"

"Yes please."

The story I'd told Karen was three quarters true. I did have a field trip and I did have a paper coming up. But the paper wasn't due for a few days; I had something else that I needed to take care of. Lex had given me another assignment, and I was up to date on my work and…depre-bored. Idle hands are the devil's play thing. And, though Karen and Mal were better friends than anyone else I'd known, they were still a reminder of how oblivious even the best of people were. I'd tried a few more times, after that night of studying, to get through, but they only proved my point without recognizing it. With each failure I was more shut down and shut in, until I was completely bricked in by that outer persona. Where I belonged, where the world wanted me, where I should be. _Could this really be my place?_

It seemed changing the world one person at a time was not a possibility, so contributing to Lex's organization was my only hope of ameliorating the problem that affected me so deeply. And others, whether they knew it or not. I hoped the sanctified revenge might cheer me up as well. The field trip to Gotham was a convenient excuse to see the Wayne Tech headquarters located there so I could shadow-port later that night. Plus, it was a way to spice up a class even the professor was a bit tired of.

The bus ride was uneventful. I spent the first two or so hours staring out the window, watching serene scenery, before they put _Groundhog Day_ on. I didn't have headphones, but I knew the movie well enough to fill in the audio and enjoy the visual. The song at the end put me in a particularly jaunty mood; the thought of my nocturnal outing and stretching my metaphorical wings blocked out the basal isolation with the mirage of contentment.

We arrived at Wayne Tech, Gotham and were greeted by an overly buoyant woman in a skirt suit. Her face looked like it had been carved into a smile. Or maybe a new localized tetanus injection. Otherwise, her cheeks would have certainly had to fall due to ACh depletion. She tittered on about the history of the company and some of its greatest break-throughs. I glanced around mildly interested at the technology and mostly ignoring her spiel. I was too internally sunny to let the blather get to me. I excused myself—not that anyone noticed—to the bathroom once we were inside the corporate area to familiarize myself with a good 'port location that would stay person-sized in any amount of light. I didn't anticipate the lights being on, but after that one time I tried to 'port to a shadow that no longer existed… I shivered at the terrifying memory.

In theory I could have hid myself in a stall and waited for everything to close. I wouldn't have been missed by my group, but when in the history of ever has _hiding in a bathroom_ worked as a way of breaking in? Little something called security checks, other people needing the lav? At the very least. Anyways, spending hours in a bathroom would have been a worse waste of time than going back to listening to the guide, which is what I did on the off chance the professor drilled us next class.

The tour ended at 3:30 and the professor released us students for an hour to explore the abutting museum and to get some food. I did a quick scan of the place, found it unimpressive, but made the best of things by going into the café to read _Young Miles_ by Lois McMaster Bujold before grabbing a bite. I'd read it many times before and it wasn't even my favorite of the series, but I hadn't read it in a while and it nice to revisit an old friend, since books were they only type I had.

I sat in an out of the way corner table, the last one that was free. It suited my purpose of privacy, but its vacancy, as far as I could tell, was due to an intense sun glare. Winter was still holding strong and its oblique sun sent piercing spears through the transparent glass. It would have bothered anyone. For me, it was particularly irritating; along with making me physiologically uncomfortable, the beams skewed my equilibrium, trying to compress my dark center and dominate my body. I struggled to keep myself balanced internally.

I couldn't enjoy my book with all the attention I had to devote to staying centered. I held up the book to shade my face, but the solution only worked for eight minutes—my arms got stiff. I shifted, using my left arm as a brace, and held the book with my right hand, pinky and thumb keeping the pages open. Soon the tendons in my fingers started to tremble with the unusual position. There was no purpose to this fight I could never decisively win. I put the book on the table and leaned my now tired dominant hand against it, crossing my other arm across my body and using it to block the sun from my eyes, lessen the load at least that much.

Denied my eyes, the beams still nuzzled my cheek, warming it, coaxing, urging me to let it in and light something aflame. I ignored their beckons and the awkwardness of the pose, allowing myself to at last fall into Barrayar's universe rather than my own.

I was forced to briefly surface by the necessity of flipping a stuck page. Vaguely I realized the effort I'd been making had ceased. My cheek had cooled.

I flicked my eyes up, fully away from the book, concerned, to see if the sky had clouded over, which could delay my plans for the night. What I saw…

 _Holy shit. There is no way this is happening._ If I don't initiate something, nothing ever happens, and if it does, it is a pleasant, but temporary, surprise... but this much of a surprise? _Holy. Shit._ The last was a whisper. A scarcely audible voice chastised my language and was forgotten simultaneously.

Closer to the window lounged an athletic boy my age. He wore a loose navy T-shirt and half-zipped black hoodie that attempted to play down his fitness. To my eye it accentuated his broad, muscular chest while understating his sinewy shoulders and arms. I didn't need my resonance to feel the composure that he radiated, the subtle strength; anyone with eyes and sense would know it from his posture. His long legs outstretched casually under the booth, and one arm was arched gracefully over the back of seat against which he leaned.

The truly unbelievable thing was that with his other hand, he was holding up a menu to shield me from the sun. _Me._

 _…_

 _No!_ I yelled at my rapidly beating heart. _Slow down, he's just reading it! He's holding it up to avoid the glare. How desperate are you that_ that _was your first thought_?My steaming blood slushed with the realization, a face I hadn't realized had brightened, fell. I should have taken advantage of the shade, but I couldn't, not when I had leapt to such an embarrassingly erroneous conclusion. I tilted back in my seat, squinting at the returned sunlight as my eyes dropped heavily back to the pages.

The shadow followed me.

I glanced into his strong boned face, not quite daring to believe the implications. His lips curled in a soft, wicked smile that drew my gaze up to his messily ruffled raven-black hair, just a half inch longer than most guys wore theirs. The locks of his bangs perfectly framed his dark, expressive brows, which met over a proud aquiline nose. But the feature that captivated my attention was his eyes, the color of lapis with the depth of diamond. And then the unthinkable happened.

One of them winked.

My brain went into total shut down. There was no thinking, there was no feeling, because this was totally impossible. I just had to wait it out, it would go away. I'd become sane again if I waited long enough, I knew. This could only be delusion.

A new and very different heat lit up my cheeks, making them tingle. My eyes fell lamely back onto the book, but the words had lost their meaning.

A tiny, practical, cruelly sarcastic thought wormed its way through the cotton-fluff. _Calm down. Seriously, let it go. Yes, it's nice, but it's a one-time thing and you are making a fool of yourself! The type of guy who does things like that is just looking to pick up a pretty girl. Chivalry. Is. Dead._ I responded with some not quite verbal thoughts equating to, _I don't care_ and _He thinks I'm pretty._ More coherently and holistically I thought, _Yes, he's attractive. But I don't know him. There is no excuse for going gaga like this except hormones, and I am more than the sum of my chemical urges. Enough._ Normal functioning crept back, still vigilant for another assault of fantasy and I was able to focus on my book.

" _Young Miles_? Not one of the classics, but it's good,"

His voice was an easy smile on the air, resolute, secure, slightly wicked. A night spent studying the stars, sometimes finding whimsical constellations and at others calculating the curvature of light. It matched his impression of midnight's blue with black silver highlights.

The whole effect was drawing me in like a black hole. _NO! Bad teenager, bad!_ I scolded myself. It didn't stop me from choking out an almost incomprehensible, "Yeah." At least I didn't have to convince my body to avoid eye contact with the stranger, it was doing it naturally. If his voice was having this much of an effect, how could I hope to stay coherent looking back into those gems again?

"'S one of my favorites." I savored the sounds like a fine dessert. He was a solid tenor, each word flowing into the next like a well composed song. The undertones were… genuine. Caring. But also vaguely mirthful, like he wanted to always be laughing. At the same time, his composition made it clear he knew how, and when, to be serious. "What part are you at?"

I should have expected the question, but it caught me off guard and I responded on literary autopilot.

"Arde is basically summarizing the entire book saying 'Someday your forward momentum will lead all of your followers over a cliff… on the way down you'll convince 'em all they can fly! Lead on My Lord, I'm flapping as hard as I can!'"

He chuckled. It was a hearty thing, but gentle, captivating. "That about sums it up. Most of my friends got as annoyed at the 'hyperactive little git' as Oser and stopped reading" He said with affection for the character. "—Not that you've gotten to that point yet. I hope you won't give up on it till you've gotten at least as far as advantages of being a plumber." Again, the voice _was_ a smile all alone.

"The Almighty Janitor." I responded more naturally to the etheric grin. "It's actually probably my fourth time reading it. How could I fail to love a character who has never 'faced a wall that, if [he] couldn't go over it, [he]'d not try to find some other way around, through, or under, or blow it up with sapper's charges. Or just bang [his] head against it till it fell down'?" I was too dazzled ( _Damn it_ ) by the sound of his voice, his immediate presence, to realize I was talking to a new person—and of the opposite sex no less—and not mumbling.

The boy slid into the seat across from me, eyebrows arched, impressed at my paraphrase.

"And by the sound of it, not your first time reading the other books in the series. Which one's your favorite? _Miles in Love?_ " To my ears he _sounded_ entirely genuine, but I sensed the undercurrents. Internally, he felt a hint of condescension, as if he expected all women to go for the romance.

"No actually, _Memory_ , as you might have noticed by my quote." I looked up with quite ire, letting him know I knew his sexist presumption.

"Really. Why?" He was pleasantly surprised.

"Because it's where Miles finds himself. He knew who he was and what he stood for in the earlier books, and it's always a joy to see him on full tilt forward momentum, taking the most convoluted path from point A to B. But he wasn't comfortable in his own skin, he didn't like himself. When he's cut off from 'the little admiral' he comes to not just know but appreciate his strengths and how to apply them; he finds his center from which he can most effectively apply leverage. The book's clever, humorous, thoughtful, and brings back the advantages of knowing your duct work. Afterwards is good too, and I like that he finds a match in Ekaterin, but his search for self is complete, which is why I think Bujold started following other characters in Cryoburn." I realized I had given a speech. A speech! How the hell had I done that? How could I be _talking_ to this guy? _Maybe because it's just one guy? No crowd?_

He gave another quick laugh; it made his sharp cheeks quirk up to his eyes in a smile. I felt myself mirror. It felt good to smile. He leaned onto the table, confidentially, "You don't have to sell me, it's my favorite too." My core buzzed happily as the outsides of his eyebrows flicked up with agreement. "What'd you think of _Captain Vorpatril's Alliance_?"

"Don't spoil me, I haven't read it yet!"

He pulled in a surprised _huff_ through his nose. "How come? It's been in e-format for, what, like a month?"

I felt like I'd disappointed him by not having read it yet, but I didn't do e-books. "Not enough computer access." I answered half truthfully as I looked away.

"Oh." The conversation dried up so abruptly it left me physically parched. _Say something. Say anything. Don't think about your face. Don't think about what you are doing with your hands. This was working, say something!_ I frantically tried to recapture the ease of beginning of the conversation. _Why bother? It won't last._ My shyness and cynicism had returned, determined to take back the ground they'd lost. Together they had reclaimed speech, inhibiting any generation of conversation. I could feel myself retreating, drawn back into the safety of my sanctuary after a brief jaunt into the fresh air of companionship.

"You're a long way from home." He commented offhandedly. Apparently he could get over such a moment of awkwardness like nothing had happen. _Why can't I?_

"What?" I was compelled to respond.

"You're from Ivy U, approximately four hours by bus. I've got some friends who go there." It came out as a statement, not a question; he was secure in his conclusion.

He had to have seen something. The riddle halted my retreat, drawing me out with the bribe. _Think, you can figure this out_. I took a moment to review what he could see, what he knew, careful not to look down myself, to look anywhere and give my survey away. _Let's see, I didn't say anything. What am I wearing? Moonstone necklace as always. Purple v-neck shirt, no name tag. GAP hoodie around my waist. Canvas travel bag…_ Wait, I put pins on that bag _… platypus pin, neuron button, witty math joke pin, hippo-hipster button… there!_ I'd put on an Ivy U pin on there on the first day of orientation. It was not a particularly interesting pin and I had forgotten about it until now; it was just a purple background with a white ivy leaf. I called his bluff, agreeably impressed by his attentiveness.

"Pin, canvas bag, fifth from the left," I said in a dead pan.

It had the intended effect. He leaned back again and ran his hand through his hair, brushing his bangs away from his face, eyes wide with amazement. His self-grooming wafted over a clean man smell, slightly spicy, but nothing obvious or smoky, like… earthy cedar. It bypassed all rationality and gave me a visceral sensation of a cat purr, which I languished in for half a sec before mentally slapping myself. _Damn the monkey part of my brain._

"Whoa. You're the first girl to have figured out that one off the bat. Shoulda guessed that wouldn't have worked."

"I'm not most girls," I shrugged simply, but my earlier blush deepened and my mouth curled, pleased at the distinction. His statement nagged at me, but I refused to analyze it; this was too much fun. _Fun? Are you becoming a flirt?_ The thought was finally effective and sobered me. _No, just friendly, he knows I'm not from around here. Let me enjoy this while it lasts, I know it won't._ _Fine._ "My turn." I extended my senses out fully, surprised at the clarity and extent of information my resonance gave me, even given the ease with which he had drawn me out. He was accustomed to seeing things from many perspectives, delaying judgment until he had as much information as possible, but capable of making the right snap decision at need, and above all intuitive. Obviously a capable leader, though it seemed learned rather than natural. Yet he was still reserved, even within himself, and as such I couldn't tell much about his specifics. He had History. He was genuinely interested in the direction the conversation had turned. He had Plans for the night. Nothing that I could pass off as an offhanded inference. He wasn't a stranger to this café; that I could use. "You _are_ from around here."

"True," he confirmed. "What gave it away?" He asked, amused that his own move had been turned against him.

I actually beamed, satisfied that I continued to make a good impression. "Any guesses?"

He closed his eyes for a second, and I saw glide them underneath the lids, searching his mental image of himself as I had. When they opened they had confused shade, with pricks of curiosity. "None" he said with false cheer.

"Not even a hunch?" I teased lightly.

"Well, it's not my clothes, and it isn't my accent," He slid mid sentences into a heavy Gotham intonation to emphasize his normal lack thereof.

"Your statement." The confusion in his face intensified, then abruptly changed to self-irritation—he asked questions, he didn't answer them. "And probability." I added for his benefit, since I had cheated. I paused, and miraculously pessimism retreated and my brain gave me something to else say. _Has to be that you know this is a onetime deal, nothing to lose._ "I'm here on a school trip, what about you?"

"I intern with the tech department." The answer was immodest yet offhand.

"Full time?"

"Yeah."

"What about college?" This guy was too bright to not be matriculating somewhere. _Prodigy?_

"Mmmm. I go. It's a bits complicated." He smiled warmly at me again, and without words actively coming out of my mouth, maintaining my forward momentum and with realism still routed I couldn't respond. He knew it too. I saw him opening his mouth to ask a question I wouldn't begin to know how to answer. Comprehending that it was needed, my practicality returned. _Fia, you have to go, time's up._ Indeed, my internal clock said it was 4:15, and I still needed dinner.

I was saved, though whether from his question or my need to excuse myself is up for debate: his phone rang. He frowned at it, irritated at the interruption. He showed no outward signs, but I hadn't tuned out my resonance yet and could feel his additional concern; he knew what the call was about. I got conflicting information on the irritation. It was real, but somehow practiced too, _What does that mean?_ "I have to take this." He held up a finger as he got up and walked out of the café.

What now? Should I wait to say goodbye? Should I leave a note? What would it say? I didn't have a phone and I was not hormone stricken enough to give him my address, though the thought did cross my mind. I didn't know this guy.

But I couldn't do nothing; this had been too… nice. A simple word for a simple pleasure.

I settled with scribbling, ' _Sorry, my bus is leaving. Thanks for the most enjoyable part of this trip'_ on a napkin _._ Anything else would have been too embarrassingly honest. Seemed like the 'nothing to lose' hypothesis was forefront explanation for my riotous internal state and uncharacteristic openness _._

I tucked my book into my bag and pulled out my wallet. The store had one premade chicken pesto sandwich left, which I took up to the register. The counter was attended by a motherly looking middle aged woman. She rang me up and offered me some free advice.

"Be careful with that boy you were talk'n to. He's a good boy, and a charmer, but he's got girls on a string and one day he's going to break someone's heart if he ain't already. I don't want that to be you, Honey, you got that dreamy look on your face."

I was touched, if self-conscious about her remark. "Don't worry about me; I'm just passing through."

"Oh, well, then have a safe trip home, Honey."

Her message attracted the boy's unguarded statement like a magnet. Or rather like oxygen allosteric bonding in hemoglobin, the thinking of one idea priming thought of the other. The guy had been _hitting_ on me. Feelings of flattery and disillusion clashed together, but disillusion had the longer range based on the cashier's comment and the boy's admission to trying to pick up other girls, sucker punching me in the gut. There was no question about which was the decisive victor. Disgust coated my mouth. The whole thing brought back unwanted memories of Jemma. _Were the few who saw me always going to view me as another acquisition?_ I thought with hopeless anger, shaking to myself. And there was more than anger there, sliding around the edges of my awareness: disappointment. The feeling confused me; why should I have been disappointed in a guy I barely knew?

 _So what if he had just been trying to getinmypants_ , I reasoned, he was gone for good. _And since memory is plastic, why shouldn't I remember his shielding as a random act of kindness, the conversation as friendly banter?_ It wasn't untrue. _Because if you keep building up your false hopes the fall is going to be that much harder, since that_ isn't _reality. Again. But you aren't going to listen to wisdom, so go ahead, enjoy your moment, I guess._

I wasn't able to completely forget that he'd been hitting on me, but the memory became for the most part a wistful one, of a chivalrous, handsome boy I'd never get the chance to know. I wanted it to be true. It could be true. Maybe.

I got on the bus, unwrapped my sandwich, and waited to go home.

When at last the day fell and the moon rose, I stepped out of my dorm into the crystal frigid air. The chill snuffled tenderly rather than biting, recognizing me as cousin now that I'd shed all the heat of the day, my perpetual guise and prison. Smiling softly at its welcome I spread myself to the unfiltered moonlight's icy caress so as to truly embrace the moment as much as I embraced this world of cold and dark. The instant I opened my eyes to the moon, blessed silver shadows radiated through me, stretching out and penetrating through the cloak of banality that normally hemmed and hid. The energy mingled tenderly with my soul in a way unparalleled to any other connection I'd encountered, as a long-separated lover united at last, reaffirming my being, my purpose and making me whole again. From the corner of my eyes I could see my bangs straighten and change to silver, the rest of my hair become sheets of rippling obsidian. I inhaled, and now reconnected, felt the night hum around me, bold, clean, pure.

 _Home._

For the first time in months I allowed myself to relish in the freedom, the absolute knowledge of the darkness's eternal love.

I knelt down into the soft snow to anchor myself as I gathered my emotions. A quick few blinks gave me the strength to, with an inhale, partition the lovely feelings to a corner. This did not douse the intensity of my sense of belonging, merely gave me the mental workspace to focus on the task at hand.

I rose from the snow and breezed to the shadow of the large oak tree in the courtyard. As I stepped, I glanced to the stars and did a half-salute to honor Orion as another patron. That ritual completed, I crouched down and lay my hand over the deepest part of the silhouette. The air was hushed with the silence that comes only from sleep: no prying eyes. I closed my own and focused on location I had studied at the laboratory. The image firmly in mind, gently, deliberately, I lowered my hand. It met a tingling surface with the consistency molten glass rather than the roughness of snow. I eased my hand down into the pool, willing each of my molecules to disperse within. The fluid reached my wrist, now pulling my arm down of its own accord. I turned my focus to the pads of my feet, again catalyzing the process. Through the three points of contact I lost my form to the shadows. Each particle of my body merged with the shadows of the world, the quantum experience making me dizzy, whatever was left to feel. I pushed the vastness away, refocused and willed myself to converge on my selected location. Gradually, I gathered myself and rose from the abyss beneath the bathroom sink, returned to the pose if not the location in which I had begun.

I got out from under the counter without pause— the room was not lit—settling myself on top to evaluate. A proud smile tugged at my lips at my successful efforts, but faded as I began to probe for people. First though, I leaned back on one arm and with the other I placed my pointer and middle fingers between my brows. As at the tree, I closed my eyes to block out their irrelevant stimuli. Points of bio-energy appeared in the map that formed behind my eyelids, some stationary, some sweeping along at a casual pace through the halls. Multiple electronics sent back an angry buzz at my inquiry, no insurmountable problem there. I mentally switched from positive space to negative, searching for the places that were not sensible. Small, anti-points skipped ahead of patrollers: flashlights. But there were no large lit areas between me and my destination.

I got down off the counter and paused, indecisive. _Should I walk or shadow travel?_ There was no difference in effort, but shading would be faster, freer. My chest tensed longingly… I began to once again stretch for the shadows around me, but paused before I broke the surface tension. There was a lot of tech between me and my destination; shading would certainly interfere with the electronics that lined the halls. The range of my aura would spread out with me, likely frying the equipment. Just walking past might do the same, but without active intent my presence would likely generate only brief incoherent static that would be ignored. Slipping through the shadows would draw attention. I sighed at the irony and reluctantly crept out of the restroom on muscle power, noiseless as a phantom.

Still, I kept to the deeper shadows, out of comfort rather than necessity, waiting patiently for guards to pass on their ingrained routes that crossed my path. The prowl through the utilitarian halls was disappointingly unremarkable. I shouldn't have taken my fortune for granted, but my blood was up from the shadow 'port and I craved a new challenge.

Lab 42C came up abruptly. It was locked, which was no surprise, but electronically. I soundlessly growled my minor irritation. Security devices like the lock caused instant red alert when they outright failed, simply overwhelming it would only cause the halls to flood with burning radiance. And as a technological illiterate, hacking was out of the question.

I exhaled and braced myself for the trick I was about to perform. The idea itself was relatively simple: cut the power to just the lock. It was the execution that would be difficult. This lock was protected against such physical methods as wire snipping and in any case I hadn't brought any cutters. I would have to intentionally focus an electron-quieting field around only the lock, enough to cut it off completely, but precise enough not to disturb the connecting alarm device. I held out my first two fingers, the same that I'd earlier used to concentrate. I pulled darkness to their tips, drawing it from the general gloom. A swirling mass of nothing disrupted the air as it concentrated. The void struggled to scatter, as is the nature of shadows, but my concentration kept it contained.

Careful not to extinguish the shadow like a match flame, I pressed it to the lock and with my other hand pulled down the nob. The door opened. I darted inside, fingers maintaining the dwindling force that neutralized the electrical current, now feeding it from my own stores, too occupied to gather the energy from the surround. The door shut behind me. Seconds ticked off my internal clock. Nothing happened.

Relieved, I shook out my hand and let out the breath I had been holding. The rest should be cake, collect file and return. I turned to the room at large and sagged. The Matrix stockroom confronted me.

Nothing to be done. I perused the aisles, frustrated at their unconventional organization. I had expected something like 1000, 1001, 1002, something rational. Instead it was categorized more like 1383a, 2384c, 4384m, 8385r. I instinctively felt there was a pattern behind the system, but the paranoid person who set this up had done his job well. Ultimately it was by luck and instinct approximation that I located the exact cabinet I sought, rather than ingenuity. I felt my nostrils flare in annoyance that I did not have the time to decrypt the system outright.

The case itself was locked as well, this time mechanically. I laced my fingers together and pushed my palms away from my body. Lock picking was a skill I had only recently acquired, and I still was not particularly adept. But I smiled anyways; I couldn't shade, I couldn't grapple with this strange organization system, but at least I'd get to work on this invisible and intricate puzzle.

I got out two warped pieces of wire and pricked them into the key hole. All senses but touch were tuned out as I manipulated the tumblers. My fingers were not yet as nimble as they needed to be and I had to start over. More than once. I let out an exasperated breath that with sound would have been a half-grunt. One tumbler left now.

"You seem to be having trouble, need a hand?" The young voice that startled me had a cruel, mocking inflection, completely ironic. The rest of my senses snapped back and focused on the origin, realizing he'd been standing there for a full minute. I kept my hands where they were, confident my fingers could finish without me. Indeed, I heard it click and I shot a self-satisfied glare at the interloper.

He was only about fourteen or so, and a red skintight outfit gripped his still developing yet muscular form. Yellow buckles and belt accented the costume while the same yellow emblazoned his pectoral with an "R" and lined a dark cape that draped over his shoulders. His eyes were covered by a black domino mask that had the same sharp angles and color as his hair. His stance was solid, confident, yet my overall impression was of a milk rather than coral snake. I felt my look convey my disdain.

The boy kept a cocky smile on his face, but through my resonance I felt a lone butterfly flutter in his core. Someone else was supposed to be with him, which made sense. Who lets fourteen year-olds run around alone in the dark of night after thieves? His absent companion, or companions, had high expectations that he could manage his duty on his own, but the kid was far from certain. I gave him credit; he hid it well. I almost felt sorry for him.

"Well, now that you've got it open, I guess I have you for breaking and entering."

 _What? I already entered the building, and I haven't broken anything._ My hands were busy leafing through files, so I let my expression communicate my sentiments. Angry embarrassment flashed across his face and the air between us as he realized how little sense he had made. "Take your hands out of the cabinet, where I can see them," He clearly had no expectation that I would acquiesce. He lowered himself into a fighter's crouch and a bo staff extended from his right hand across his back. He tensed, waiting.

I kept going through the files.

The moment dragged on.

"You aren't going to attack?" he asked. I shrugged and raised an eyebrow at him. _Why should I? You're not bothering me._ My issue was with the company and the world at large, not with him.

I guess he was used to opponents who responded poorly to being disturbed. He was quick once he realized his mistake, both mentally in realizing my priorities and physically as he lunged. I turned my body away, my focus still on finding the correct file, but a hard fury at his interference began to form. _Stay on task, ignore him._

Infuriation at my nonchalance rolled off him in waves and he smacked his staff against my forearms. Its touch pounded burning needles from every angle deep into my flesh, prompting my vocal chords to try screaming even knowing there was no chance of success. The pain, denied that outlet, contorted my face into a snarl. I surmised the staff's electric aspect had been intensified rather than diminished, malfunctioning in the wrong direction from its contact with me. I could feel the boy's smoky satisfaction that my full attention was finally upon him.

The ball of anger stirred. _How little he knows_.

I stepped back and shook out my twitching arms, and reined back my spite. _Disarm, don't damage_. I focused on his staff, extending my field, feeding it off of my defiance. The staff began to vibrate and spat sparks. I bore down on it, until the sparks traveled to the grip.

The boy merely repositioned himself and whacked at my torso. I dodged, but not quickly enough. This time I neutralized the electricity that hit me, expecting it, but I couldn't change the inertia. The force of the blow stole my breath and it refused to return. My bones creaked, reaching the limits of their tensile strength. I converted the pain and fear of suffocation into energy and shunted it at the staff. The sizzling intensified and the boy dropped the smoldering thing, tearing off his melted gloves. His eye slits narrowed angrily, his frustration resonated and amplifying my own. _Too much, Fia, pull it back._

"You think I can't fight without that?" he taunted and jabbed a punch at my ribs, the same spot the staff had tenderized. I hissed and shoved him, trying to gain distance. He moved with my push, rolling away. In the same motion he was up again, throwing some sort of spinning disk at my face. I held up a hand to block it and it bit deep into my palm. Black blood dripped away from the wound and with it my self-control. No more was I aware of who my opponent was; every facet acknowledged only that he had seen fit to hurt me and at some level enjoyed it.

Internally, I was roaring. I sensed other electronics on his person and mentally tore at them with unchecked wrath, merciless, uncaring of the results.

Chaos blazed.

A thick cloud of smoke enveloped him. Sparks radiated from within, then erupted in flame. He coughed, his arms struggling to take off his seizing belt, but some sort of foam wrapped around his hands, immobilizing them. At least it also smothered the fire.

The cloud continued to billow. His cough deepened. He fell hard.

 _Do not meddle in the affairs of those you know_ nothing _about,_ I thought dangerously. I staunched my wound with a bit of fabric from my shirt, far from ideal but the best I could do, and returned to my perusal of the cabinet.

By the time I found the correct file, the bulk my pain had subsided to a tolerable ache and my temper had settled to a jerky trot rather than blind charge. I remembered the boy's initial uncertainty, and the hint of pity returned. He had been doing his job, even if it was for the wrong people; he hadn't actually done anything wrong. Certainly nothing worth what I had done to him.

I inspected the unconscious form. He'd had a lot of tech; it seemed the entire suit had some circuitry, and as such most of him was at least lightly burned. I hadn't meant to do any serious damage. There wasn't much I could do for him now; he would heal in his own time. Rolling up his cape into a pillow only slightly assuaged my guilt at losing control, even if it had only been mildly compared to the last time. I sighed. This was to be part of the gig. I had a purpose, he had an opposing purpose. This wasn't the end of the story if I continued to strike against the company. But if I was honest with myself, I _liked_ getting to use my abilities to further my goals. No more pretending, no more restraint. Biting the hand that leashed me. At the cost of innocents though? For a moment I was uncertain.

I let it go. He had the same problems I had, opposing purposes. And he hadn't been at all conflicted about beating me with the _damned_ stick and razor thing, just about his ability to do so, far from guiltless. I had been fair, and he had lost. Until such time as Lex and his organization were able improve things, fair was the best _anyone_ could expect from life. I'd just have to be more disciplined next time, or I would do more damage than my efforts for Lex could balance out. I took the file and shadow ported back home, leaving the boy and my conflict behind.

That night I dreamed of my casualty:

 _Robin awoke with a violent cough. Every nerve ending that wasn't shrieking was making now feeble attempts to communicate its pain. He coughed again. God, even his lungs burned. What had she done?_

 _His training took over and he rolled, pushing himself up into a ready position, noting as he did that his cape unfurled. Fervent glances confirmed he was alone._

 _He stood, which relieved some of the stinging from his scalded hands. He scowled mildly at the relief; he was tough, he didn't need the release from pain. As proof he smacked his hand against the R on his chest. "Robin to Team"._

 _The only response was the renewed screaming of his hand._

 _A quick survey revealed every piece of tech was a slagged mess. For a moment jealousy of his teammates who had superpowers to rely on reared up, but was quickly tamed. It was an old inequality he had more than compensated for._

 _At least there was one good thing about the thief's target. He shuffled over to a computer built into the wall and typed in the proper code. An older face appeared on the screen, relief just visible under the domino mask and professional façade._

 _"_ _Tim, what happened? You were supposed to be back an hour ago. Why didn't you check in? Oh." The younger boy didn't bother to answer the second question knowing mentor could see for himself._

 _"_ _It wasn't an ordinary Gotham thug like we thought. It was someone new."_

 _"_ _New, not just from out of town?" The elder boy frowned._

 _"_ _Definitely new to the scene. She was just wearing a sweatshirt, didn't know how to fight. And she didn't follow the script." After an amused but perplexed look Robin elaborated. "She didn't respond to my insults or initiate an attack."_

 _"_ _Are you sure it wasn't just that you're still working on your banter?" The elder boy almost teased, but sobered as he added. "So then what happened?"_

 _A brief explanation ensued, the brows of the elder boy furrowing further at each detail._

 _"_ _Sounds electrically based. Anything else?"_

 _"_ _One thing. The weirdest part of the whole encounter was that when I woke up, my cape had been rolled up to cushion my head."_

 _"_ _What? It was her then."_

 _"_ _Had to be, anyone else and I would have woken up in an ER." Robin echoed his mentor's reasoning. "Thoughts?"_

 _"_ _Not really," was the frustrated reply. At least nothing he was confident enough in to share. "Can you zeta here or do you need a lift to a hospital?"_

 _"_ _I'll manage."_

 _"_ _Get back as quickly as you can, I need your help finding out more about what she took. Nightwing out."_

 _The screen went black._

The dream was forgotten in the sea of other dreams I drifted through that night.

The next day I told Karen about the trip. It didn't go as I'd hoped.

"You should've given him your email address."

"What? Why?"

"Because you _met_ a guy, girl. That's what you do. Well, normally you'd give your number, but under the circumstances, email."

"But I didn't know him."

"That's _why_ you give him your email," Bee said as if I were stupid. Maybe I was. "You can talk, and if he's ever in town, maybe you two could…"

"Could what?"

She rolled her eyes at me. "He sounds gorgeous and he was clearly into you. You know… have some fun."

I stared at her, confused. Then I understood. "Karen! I met the guy once. I didn't even get his name!"

"So? Were, or were you not, attracted to him?"

"Not." And it was mostly true.

"Not? Don't lie to me."

"I found him good looking, but…"

"But what? Did his breath smell or something?"

"I just can't… can't imagine kissing someone I don't know." He'd seemed great. Really great, if I was being honest. But even with my resonance, I didn't actually know him yet. Hw wasn't familiar, wasn't comfortable. Yes, I'd felt warm and fuzzy near him, but the thought of anything more with so little to go on? It felt… empty, dishonest.

She rubbed her temple. "You make this so much harder than it needs to be. You meet and get along, you see each other around, he hits on you, you like it, so you make out a little, and see where it goes. Maybe it does, maybe it doesn't, no harm done. Maybe not with this guy, but that's how you meet people."

"Is that how you and Mal got together?"

"More or less. He was a jock, I was a cheerleader; I knew who he was from around and that he wasn't a _total_ jerk. One day he decided he liked me and tried to pick me up after, like _, every_ practice. My team mates made me say yes just to make it stop, and, well he looked just as nice then as he does now…" She trailed off with a salacious glint for a second. "It just felt so good to, you know, _be_ with him. Everything else came later. Like the fact that we both love watching soccer and weird ice cream flavors."

I was silent for too long. "Hey, for a lot of people, things start with even less than that. Just, loosen up a little and follow the attraction."

I said something vaguely affirmative, but I was biting the inside of my cheek… I'd liked that he was cute, but that wasn't why I had told her the story.

At least I'd had the night.


	5. 5: Opposition

Chapter 5

Though I'd tried to dismiss my confliction over my treatment of the kid, for a month it hung like a mosquito at my ear. So when my next assignment came, I was more eager than I would like to admit; I needed to improve my performance, do things right. This time, I would not allow my anger to get the better of me if I encountered another pawn obstructing my path. This time, I'd be ready.

I locked the door my room—not that I was expecting visitors, but better safe than sorry—and pulled out a spice rack from one of my drawers. I turned off the lights and began to sort through the containers.

There was no real need for the room to be dark; I could mix the herbs just as well in the light. The darkness was for my personal comfort and relaxation, something that would seep into the herbs as I made my sleeping powder. If I were tense, the nervous, jittery energy I imparted would ward away the Zzzz's the dust would call.

I stated with the obvious, chamomile, lavender, rosemary, vervain, sprinkling them into the mortar. The sweet aromas glided up and cradled my head. I felt the Zzzz's from nearby rooms take notice, but they failed to stir. I added the rarer soporific herbs, agrimony, datura, passiflora, valerian. Heliotrope, jasmine, and marigold were ground in for dreams: not strictly necessary but they tricked the mind into wanting the sleep brought on by the other herbs, making the effects more difficult to fight. I hedged, then shrugged and ground in some mugwort, dried rose, and thyme. Though they were primarily psychic amplifiers, they would hopefully magnify the alluring power of the dream herbs. I sniffed the powder and almost fell over as sleep flew to me, but not quite. There was one sour note, one thing that gave me warning to brace myself; the mugwort was too acrid. I flicked through my spice rack, looking for something to counter the odor. _Ah_. I pulled out a sage leaf and dropped it on intact, letting the odor rather than the essence trickle into the power.

I mentally probed it and confirmed that a direct sniff would result in almost instant knock out. _Perfect_. I tapped the contents of the mortar into a leather pouch and secured it to my waist. _Time to go_. I reached out to the doorknob, but felt a familiar presence in the hall. _Now? Of all times?_ I unlocked the door, turned back on the light, unclipped the belt, shoved it under the bed, then sat down and picked up a book. My eyes looked down at the page, but my awareness was on the hall. The knock came.

"Come in."

"Hey, Fia."

"Oh, hi, Mal, what's up?"

"Karen's out of town tonight, the guys are busy, and I won't read another article on British imperialism. Would you help a poor soul stave off boredom?"

I raised an eyebrow. "So I'm your last option?"

"Yeah." He rumbled, seeing the trap too late, "I mean, no, I mean…gmmmm."

"No offence meant nor taken."

He rumbled moodily, but still amused. "As usual. Do you always have to do that?"

"Yes," I answered matter-of-factly. Then with real regret, "In any case I'm sorry, I've a ton of work to do."

"Well, I'm already all the way over here, since you don't have a phone to text and the carrier pidgins are all asleep…" The ongoing joke mostly hid his irritation at the inconvenience, "Can I stay, keep you company?"

It was tempting, I didn't spend all that much time with him if a Frisbee wasn't involved, and that hardly qualified as a deep relationship. When was I likely to get another opportunity like this? _I should seize it._ I examined my internal clock, 2:03. I didn't have time if I was going to pull off my assignment. I could put it off, Lex hadn't said I needed to rush. _Just another semi-sleepless night replaying all the things you could have done better…no, not an attractive enough offer._ Inspiration struck. I stretched, causing the herbaceous particles that had clung to my clothes to drift into the air. I blew out a heavy breath, stirring the remnants towards Mal, meanwhile making an obvious glance at my clock. "I didn't realize how late is getting late, I might have accidently kept working all night if you hadn't come saved me. Maybe we should both just call it a night." Mal's eyes drooped as the powder hit him. I yawned to drive the power home.

"Actually, you know, you're right. All the sudden I'm bushed. Another time?"

"Nothing would make me happier." I gave him a sleepy nod.

He shut the door in his wake and I heard him rub his face in an attempt to rouse himself enough to get to his own room. The dosing had been perfect; enough to be effective, not enough to have 240 pounds of adolescent male limp on my floor. I collected my gear and set out to greet my patron lunar lady.

I 'ported to the laboratory lav again, nothing having been wrong about that part of the execution. Again, I swept for life and light, and aside for some beefed up personnel, nothing had changed other than my eventual destination. It was farther than lab 42C, but there had been no closer location to port to on the tour or during my previous visit.

I slunk through the halls. [1]Not a soul knew me.

In point of fact my target that night was a higher security vault. Some sort of data chip that needed to be isolated from uncontrolled electromagnetic radiation, no danger from me. The specs said it would be on a pedestal in the center of a high ceilinged room with a few skylights. I did not understand why this architecture was so popular for heavily guarded stuff; you see it in just about every movie. But the minds of builders were not my concern, avoiding security was.

Because of the chip's sensitivity there were no electronic around, locks or otherwise; only a heavy steel door with several keyholes stood between me and my quarry. They were too tough for my novice pick skills. I inspected the seams of the door. There was a slight crack underneath the thing; it was enough.

I fell into shadow and paddled lazily under the door through the continuous lagoon of darkness that connected the two sides. It was no harder than swimming under the buoy line that separated the shallow and deep ends of a public pool. Once on other side I rose into physical form again, cautiously. The lack of electronic security virtually guaranteed mechanical methods of protection. I assessed my surrounding instead, alert for any telling piece of information.

Moonlight shone in through the skylights, illuminating the pedestal which held my quarry and I realized the purpose of this architecture with a flash of insight. The skylights illuminated the center of the room just enough to prevent a person's eyes from adapting to the dark, making it impossible to inspect for traps. For anyone but me, that was.

As such I looked around unhindered. There were nozzles on the wall, suggesting the possibility of gas. _Not good_. And circular panels littered the ground, the type that would produce spikes, likely barbed. Directly surrounding the chip's pedestal— _Now that was clever_ — was a web of near invisible threads, mostly transparent to even my night vision. The looked innocuous enough, but echoes of the anticipatory glee felt by their creator still hung on them, as my calm had clung to my sleep dust. As I thought about it, in addition to whatever mysterious and sinister security purpose they would wreak, they probably acted as a Faraday cage for the thing too. I could appreciate two-birds-one-stone devices like that.

It was almost a shame that all this effort was wasted on me. I dropped back into the shadow pool and glided under and around all the snares, dismissing all the carefully laid protections. In my self-assurance I emerged from the shadows, walked up the dais, and picked up the chip without thought. The pedestal sank into the ground. _You made the Indiana Jones mistake? Seriously?_ I inwardly disparaged myself, disgusted.

I tucked the chip into a pocket, just as a panel in the wall slid up. The first things I saw were the intense masked eyes of the boy from the previous encounter, bounding down the hall that the panel revealed. Even at the distance I could tell how he burned with the need to improve on his performance of last time, same as I. He must have been waiting in the building for this, but unsure of my target until I had been such a damned fool. Behind him floated a green skinned young woman with short dark red hair and next to her crouched a green… tiger?

As I took their measure, the party reached the threshold of the room. The boy signaled and the group members launched themselves towards me.

I should have 'ported home from the pedestal's isolated shadow. If things hadn't turned out as they eventually did, I would still be kicking myself for that. I could have made a clean get away, and saved a lot of future strife. But I between my startlement at seeing a tiger and the time it took to calculate that I would have in fact had time, my time ran out. Even so I should have stepped out of the moonlight, melted away into the larger shadows of the room and been done with it. But running would not leave the message that I was not someone to trifle with, not someone to be used, someone to forget and forget her captivity. And later I rationalized my staying as a way to keep them from learning more about my abilities and weaknesses, not that I succeeded in the end.

The green woman led and as such hit the unseen web first. She screamed and her clothing sizzled where the strings touched her. Acid seemed to be the source of their sensed perniciousness. The remaining threads fell to the ground around her, creating another mine-field. Before they had all hit the ground she phased through the ones that draped her. I felt seeds of uneasiness germinate at the base of my spine, unsure of what I was dealing with.

But there was no time to contemplate who or what she was; the tiger leapt over the webbing, took a single stride, and launched itself at me with cool, ferocious precision. Time seemed to slow. I know it didn't because I could feel each second exactly the same as the last, but more seemed to make it to my awareness in each interval.

The emerald tiger's paws slammed my shoulders. With the physical contact I could tell it was not truly a beast, but a shape shifter. The fact made absolutely no difference as he drove me backwards with the full force of his momentum, off the podium and into the darkness. I could abstractly feel the claws begin to extend as we fell, hook first up out of the paws that sheathed them, then down, piercing. Now puncturing into the thick hoody I wore as we tumbled in slow motion. We both knew the force of the impending impact with the floor would drive the claws into my skin, before he bit down. To incapacitate, not kill, if the animal instincts did not take over.

The awe such precise power kept me level headed in the face of the primal terror I felt at his pounce. I let his force drive me down, but rather than hitting the hard floor I plunged into the mercury textured darkness, letting the barrier between the plains strain him away. I'd never crossed over while that focused; it made me appreciate the splendor I took too much for granted. It was like floating just under the surface of water, looking up, seeing my reflection as well as a slightly distorted world above. If you've ever dreamed about being able to breathe underwater, you'd understand the flow and ecstasy of each breath. Clearer than air, yet somehow more solid, more real. Each inhale was deliberate, absolute, the feeling of separation and control. My words do the experience no justice; I must hope that you understand me none the less.

The tiger jolted onto the surface of the shadows, unable to follow. His confusion sent ripples in the liquid that eddied around me. I coolly got out my prepared power and shook some into my palm. It did not diffuse away as it would have in a true liquid, physics being more of a suggestion then a law in this domain. I watched impassively as the tiger turned, tail lashing, tasting the air for someone who was not there. I lifted myself out of the shadows behind him. He spun. I held my palm up to my face and blew. The particles were drawn up into his nose as he prepared to roar.

The roar became a yawn, and the creature fell over, overwhelmed by lilac sheep. There was a biblical reference in the image somewhere.

Thinly I smiled, pleased at my results. And oblivious to the other two.

"BEAST BOY!" The green woman flew to the sleeping form and shook it as the boy swung at me with the bo staff. The hit wrenched me from my detachedness. On the upside, the staff wasn't electrified this time. It still hurt like hell as it smacked my ribs, this time on the other side. _What is it about that one point?_ I clutched at my side, unable to grab for my bag of powder. I made a call. I'd done what I came to do; get the chip and overcome my opponent without landing blows. I was not counting on dealing with three people, and I saw no reason to collect bruises in trying.

I reached inside myself to break the thin layer between me and the fluid shadows again, but as I began, panels from the roof rapidly retracted and moonlight filtered in, leaving only thin, broken shadows at the edges of the room. Though the beams invigorated me, drove away most of the pain of the blow, they also isolated me from my means of retreat.

I sprinted to the entry from which the trio had emerged. It didn't matter where it led; I could melt away in the shadows there and 'port home once I'd lost them.

But suddenly, my foot failed to meet floor. I rose, struggling to free myself of an invisible hand that clasped itself around my chest. It pulled me towards the green woman, with eyes full of hatred. Each thrash of mine triggered a crushing squeeze, no escape. Loathing for the woman who pinned me swarmed over my panic, effectively suppressing it. I managed to pull out my last palm-full of powder as I drew near.

"What did you do to him." It was a question, but said with such flat threat, such malice, that the inflection at the end was lost. Her words were spiked not just with her anger at me, but with her raw protectiveness of shifter. She didn't know the effects were only temporary, but that no concern of mine. _Find out for yourself, witch_. I glared as I blew the powder into her face. She breathed in and I braced myself to land when she dropped off.

Instead of passing out as she should have, her eyes began to shine a wicked green. Without that window into her soul, she no longer felt remotely human to my senses. Her cape and hair whipped and snapped in a wind that suddenly gusted about her. The hand with fingers clenched as I felt the invisible one around me, she flung out and then up. I was wrenched sideways and slammed into the ceiling. Another jerk and I smashed the opposing wall. Through my stunned eyes and spinning head I saw her wind up to pitch me into the ground. But abruptly her eyes fluttered, and we both fell.

 _Whaaaa?_ I thought groggily, moaning without sound. I'd landed in the shadows and could feel the soothing moonlight withdrawing from my injuries, the agony attacking at full strength once again. A second thought belatedly answered my first. _The thyme, and… the other things_ I couldn't remember what else I put in it while resentfully focused on my growing pain _… in the powder. She must be psychic. Must amplified that first._ All I wanted at that moment was to lie there, carefully not moving, but I was not given that option.

The thing that had cut my hand the other night speared into the tile in front of my nose. A warning shot.

"It's over," said the boy. He crept towards me, wary, bo staff extended in one hand, a pair of cuffs in the other. I dragged my awareness off my body and back to the room.

I felt it when his shadow merged with the one on which I lay.

With a burst of will I yanked at his shadow's leg and its counterpart followed, knowing if I missed this connection I would not have the strength to manipulate his shadow from afar. As he fell I regained enough sense to drop into the shadow pool below me. I could feel stifling edges; I could not get out the way I had come nor through a window as no buildings eclipsed the skylights to create a canal. There was only about a ten meter gap between the border of my temporary refuge and the shadows of the other doorway; escape. I propelled myself to the lip and launched myself across the border of the realms in the direction of the hall. Only three strides away—

A pellet flew past my ear and glanced the ground a meter to my right. Light burst from it like water breaking a floodgate. Its tongues speared into me. My skin crackled from the inside out as the too-bright beams chewed into my essence. The radiance, gleeful at its triumph over its eternal opposite, swept deep, leaving streaks of blazing torment. I recoiled away from the light, to the wall, cursing the imperfect opaqueness of cotton cloth. Protective reflexes fought one another, unable to successfully shield any one place in response to the universal assault.

The light from the flash bomb faded fast, and so did I. I began to slump to the floor, but my head tilted up as I did so and I caught a glimpse of the moon. It was just enough to let me aim my fall towards the shadows of the egress, and I fell in.

Weakly I floated, with no real sense or interest in where I was carried. Eventually, I collected myself enough to slog out of the pool. I was in a deep, unfamiliar alley. I grasped my moonstone and pulling enough power from it to let me get home while mentally shifting relation with the darkness.

I thought of the secretive, dark space under my bed, sank into the now-viscous shadows, and forced myself to coalesce there.

I rolled pathetically out into the center of the room, into the moonlight that shone through my window.

Sleep claimed me as the moon began to heal the invisible damage the light had done.

As expected, my return from dreamland was a nightmare. The moonbath had reduced the severity, but not the extent of the damage. The morning sun revealed an angry red burn on most of what I could see through my watering eyes. It felt a lot worse than it looked, as I had cooked from the inside. The physical signs could probably be covered up with clothing, I could avoid questions, but I would sting for at least a few more days. I staggered up and caught sight of myself in the mirror. I could only have been described as a mess, but at least it seemed my hair had absorbed enough of the flash to prevent any visible damage to my face; that would have been harder to hide. Under the immediate sharpness of the burns was the slower, deeper ache of deep bruises from being tossed like an unwanted doll. My back and chest throbbed, seeming to be the worst injured.

The details of the night's events came back in a rush that hammered my already aching head. _I bet this is what a hangover feels like. Why would anyone voluntarily incur this?_ On parallel but no less serious train of thought, I involuntarily reviewed my performance. _Will I be able to use my sleeping powder again? Can they defend against it now that they know? Did the boy realize I pulled at his shadow? Will he be prepared next time_ _(will there be a next time?)_ _?_ I wasn't sure how he would interpret his fall. Clearly there had been no physical contact. _Maybe he'll think I'm a psychic like the green woman?_ That would be a rational conclusion from him… but clearly I had been having trouble against her abilities, and she would know I was not. _Could he recognize me as a shadow being?_ I thought about my extreme reaction to the flash bomb; he must have seen. But would he understand? No way to know, I would just have to make adjustments as necessary.

As I tried to take another step toward the bathroom to get cleaned up, the pounding in my head tripled. The purple flannel looked so inviting even without its usual nest of night. I tenderly shuffled over, lay myself down, pulled Hym up to my breast. I'd never been so happy for it being a Sunday before.

A few hours later I awoke slightly more permanently. I was still sore, still stinging, but my headache had assuaged somewhat. I succeeded in the trek to the bathroom and subsequent cleansing. On my return though, a note greeted me, pinned to my bulletin board.

 _Check your mail._

~L

I sighed and hauled myself to the campus post office, then hauled the package they had for me back to my room. Being ordered around was _exactly_ what I wanted on top of all the physical trauma, but it did not pay to keep my benefactor waiting. Reluctantly I opened the box. Inside was a laptop computer, which I lifted out and placed on my desk. It felt solid, had a good heft to it, not like the frail things I saw carried under everyone's arms. I reached to open it, trying to calm myself to insure its proper functioning, but it began to open without my touch. Nervous, I backed onto my bed. Once the lid had completely lifted itself, a bald head appeared, composed in the center of the screen. Its eyes focused on me.

"Ah, Fia, no need to stay back. My technicians assure me that this particular device is resistant to the vast majority of your influence. Unless you purposefully attempt to disable it, this computer should continue to run without a problem. Consider it a bonus for a job well done last night, as well as a matter of convince for me; I cannot always dispatch someone to drop you notes." _Yeah, and I'd really prefer that you didn't_.

"How'd you know I was successful?" Not that I had been exactly, but I supposed I'd accomplished his aims. "The news on it already?"

"No, but word gets around." He said cryptically, avoiding a true answer. "Rest assured, your efforts will greatly aid in achieving our mutual objective. Inside the box I sent you, you will also find a pre-addressed, carefully configured container for the item you acquired. Please send it out at your earliest convenience." Again, though I could not feel him, his message of _immediately_ was frighteningly obvious. I made the mistake of looking away from the screen.

"Something troubles you?" He asked with calculated interest.

"I don't think I should go back to that particular branch next time, if possible. The people guarding it are learning too much about me." My words were hedged not with fear, per se, but unease.

"My, were we careless? Do you feel the need to stop?" The insult and the condescending tone it had been wrapped in bit at my pride, as intended. The man knew just which notes to hit with people. I didn't let my reaction show, sticking with pure logic.

"No, of course not. But I feel I am becoming predictable and giving an unnecessary edge to my adversaries."

"Of course, you are correct," he conceded. At least, it was supposed to have felt like a concession, it was edged in shrewdness. "But you remain dedicated to our cause?"

"Yes." My earlier indecision was absent. His mention of the true reason for my exploits washed it away. My one word carried all pent up frustration of the isolation I felt at college and before, amplified by that which I saw around me in the oblivious students. To be trapped by society and not know it, no, I could not allow such continued ignorance and abuse, even at the cost of working with a man who was a master of such a system. The only way left to dismantle such an establishment was with the power found only at the top, and the sacrifice of those at the bottom like me.

"Well, then. Fortunately the next item I require is stored at another location. You should not run into the same persons that seem to be causing friction. I will send you the necessary information in… a few months, say? Is that sufficient time to recuperate?" I bristled at his insinuation that I had so damaged myself.

"One month."

"Excellent." _Damn, again with being led exactly where I was wanted_.

He didn't have to do that to me; I was a willing agent. It was simply his nature. At least the more I spoke to Lex, the more I recognized his manipulations, saw his handlings for what they were; I could not imaging all of his associates were as perceptive. It was becoming uncomfortable to comply contritely, but yet it was a necessary evil. I rested my faith that we had the same goals in the conviction I'd felt in him during our original collaboration. He truly wished for a grander future for mankind, and intended to use any skills at his disposal to realize his purpose. If only he were a little less callous about it all.

"Oh, and congratulations for paying your way through college."

At least the man knew how to end on a high note.

As it must, the month passed and I healed. I was keen for the fresh start, away from the unorthodox Gotham protectors, whatever their deal was. I still didn't know who the boy was, and neither why nor if it he was specifically protecting Wayne Tech or whether he was a part of a larger city thing. Maybe I should have watched the news more or something, but it was always so depressing. In any case, I could leave the city behind and return to my purpose without fear of the information the boy and his accomplices' had gathered would come back to haunt me. Tonight it would just be me, the moon, and my shadows.

And a train, for the first part. My next target was in Philly, and as I'd never been anywhere near the city of brotherly hate, I needed alternative transportation. Trains were the ideal form of transportation for someone with my disadvantages; all the technology was both relatively primitive and up in front; I was just along for the ride. I enjoyed it while it lasted, knowing I wouldn't be returning the same way. Finding my way home was never a problem.

Once I arrived I traveled in the shadow pockets of Philadelphia. Frankly, I'd never been exposed to such a densely packed city, and this one had a particularly bad reputation for homeless and shady people. I didn't want to come face to face with a problem I could do nothing about in the short term. Instead I looked the other way, ignoring my guilt.

The Wayne Tech building was burrowed relatively deep in the metropolis, considering how if I were a city planner, I'd want buildings that had the potential to explode away from the people. Its location served my purposes well enough; the surrounding buildings created plenty of pathways for a shade to enter.

The room was just where it was in the plan's I'd received, as was the filing cabinet. I rose into physical form to retrieve the—

A thousand, full spectrum, 10,000 lux lights incinerated the air from every direction.

For a nanosecond I felt like I had been dropped into the center of the sun. The only half-blessing is that after that much stimulation, my entire somatosensory system shut down, utterly incapable of keeping up with the demands placed upon it. Though my physiology could not comprehend what was happening, my ethereal senses still felt the radiance tearing into me, determined to obliterate all that I was.

Closing in on me.

Defense mechanisms overrode cognition. My consciousness curled into a tiny ball at my center, wrapping the ever shrinking amounts of darkness and moonlight that remained in my body around my being to delay the inevitable destruction. Quite literally, I Blacked out.

* * *

[1] (Very interesting, I know. If this were a cartoon and not a story, there'd be a few panels of dark halls moving past, maybe a flashlight beam arching over the ground. Honestly, I wasn't paying that much attention to the scenery so I see no reason to recreate it).


	6. 6: Irredeemable

Chapter 6

The siege on my being slowed, but I barely registered it from behind the tattered remains of my shell. There were voices out there? My skin started flickering pain back to me, further interrupting my protective isolation.

The light dimmed again. The world outside my mind slowly came into focus, like after you rub your eyes, but the image never became sharp. My body had apparently been moved to a warehouse, based on the ceiling beams, while I'd been focused on shielding my spirit. I was bound to a stiff, metallic chair. Lights surrounded me as if I were on the set of a movie. The whole thing would have been ironic or clichéd, if hadn't felt like I was in an iron maiden.

There were voices again, from outside the ring of lights. I couldn't see into the darkness, which shook me badly. It made me aware just how cut off I was from safety, from home. Though the light, now down to a _mere_ 900 lux or so, was still battering me I forced myself focus on what they were saying.

"…low enough?" Male.

"Any lower and we risk letting it regain its strength." Female, familiar. _Its?_

"I think she's coming round." Male, unknown, gruff, dismissive.

"You can go; I'll let you know if I can't get anything from it." The female again.

"Someone should stay to keep an eye on things." Same unknown male, warning.

"It will only confuse the questioning." The texture of the light's barrage changed, modified by a silent animosity. Two sets of footsteps echoed away. I felt a release of the woman's tension despite all the interference from the blistering confines. Shaking my head cleared it; I recognized the…cadence of the female's emotions and her presence. Both were sharp like snapped strings of caramel against a tongue. The green woman.

 _How did they know my target?_ _Whatever you have been stealing must be part of a larger project; they know what it is, even if you don't._

"Who are you?" The simple question was devoid of pity. Even if I could have spoken, I would not have answered to such a tone as that.

"I asked who you are." The chair tipped backward and what little balance I felt was thrown. My stomach pitched, but I kept my face blank and stony. The chair lurched back onto all fours. I could feel her gaze on me, though she stayed hidden in what should have been _my_ shadows.

"Fine, it really doesn't matter. You are of no consequence. What do you intend to do with the pieces you've taken." _You know more about it than me. I'm just the delivery girl._ _Never again am I going in with this little information._

"Answer me!" I shut my eyes. They weren't doing me any good anyways. All my attention went to concentrating on my ears and resonance, triangulating her distance.

"Last chance," she threatened. With a snap I open my eyes and glared at where she had to be. I spat at her feet.

Disgust and outrage emanated around me. But the voice that queried was an unearthly calm.

"Who are you working for?" _A man who is more unfeeling than any I have ever known. And he still shows more compassion that whatever_ you _are!_

"Fine." Without any more warning than that, the lights flared. The assault of light drove my senses to their limit, and sadly not beyond. I could smell my flesh simmering. Distantly I wondered why it had not charred already.[1] I thrashed wildly in a desperate attempt to cover _anything_ from the intensity.

"Who. Do. You. Work. For."

Like the US government, I make it point not to compromise with terrorists, but there are times to cut your losses, and I'd passed that point by far. I was more than ready to answer. I wanted to answer, tried hysterically to answer. It was all useless; my hands were tied. Even if they were free it was doubtful she would have understood my answers. I wasn't even being given a chance. For the first time I appreciated how much I gave up when I lost my voice becoming a shade.

Desperate to do something, anything, to get out of the light, I shook violently. The panicked shakes tipped the chair over and I banged onto the concrete floor. I didn't even notice the force of the blow because at least now a whole fourth of my body was covered from the omnipresent light. The sound echoed through the warehouse.

It brought footsteps.

"M'gann!" It was the warning male again.

"She did it to herself." At least now I was a she again. The chair lifted itself back into position. I cringed feebly at the return of the full exposure.

"Have you got anything out of her yet?" That was the other male.

"Not yet; she won't talk. Let me try one more thing."

Something passed between them. I couldn't tell what, but something was… unsaid.

"Do you think it's necessary?" First male.

"You know how dangerous that weapon can be." Woman.

Pause. "Do it."

The other male was emanating unease.

"Don't worry," She soothed. Again, something was unsaid, but it felt like ' _I won't'_ then more to herself ' _not with you here'_. "If this doesn't work we will turn her over to the lab."

She said it so casually, as if this were a kinder fate then whatever she wasn't doing. But something in me snapped at her implications, made me vindictively glad I had told her nothing.

The dark, crystalline and harsh thing that grew at her words raced from the base of my neck under every inch of my skin. The rays from the lights plinked against it like an early spring hail against a bomb shelter. I could feel that I was being injured, but there was no longer any pain. My mind was filled with one frozen word. _Never_.

Still, whatever she threw at me next went straight through this new semi-corporeal armor. It dug towards my mind on the psychic plane, like claws dripping with acid, as worse than the light had been as it bypassed what protection my physical form had offered. I mentally twisted myself way from her will, like fog parting around a charging bull. The fringes of my consciousness brushed hers and flinched.

Light burned, but it was pure. It was its nature to try to snuff me out. It was nothing personal.

The woman's attack was something else. It was vicious. Though I could tell it was restrained, a red core pulsed from its depth. The need to peel apart a personality, to reach into places most dear and wretch away a person's secrets and identity. She had promised not to, but she could. And she would without thought if she felt it necessary, without any more regret than one squashing a bug. Resentment at her callous arrogance boiled within my depths.

Still I kept my distance, not allowing the malevolent force to close. Frustrated tension condensed around it like vapor on a cold window and she broke off.

Back in the physical realm I stared into the white oblivion at where I knew her to be. She wasn't done. That had not been close to all the ability she commanded, nor had she reached the line she had drawn for herself, though that line was farther than any decent person should go.

She stepped into the light and I met her eyes. Physically and psychically she stalked closer. I waited. She reached out two fingers towards my temple, to give her contact and the advantage. With the touch she would smother me, violate the one place no one should go uninvited, stealing all that she wanted, all that was mine.

And she didn't even see it as rape.

Even knowing her sinister intensions I didn't flinch.

She leaned in.

The moment her shadow was cast upon me I plunged in, shaking off the binding ropes and the shackles of light.

The least I could do now was return the favor she'd intended to give me.

Though any person's shadow, I had a portal into her mind. I dashed at hers, her maniacal conviction mirrored exactly. She was stunned, but felt my presence approach and fearfully put up her own defenses. Not before I saw what I was looking for. Like a mother looks towards her baby when someone yells fire, her first panicked thought at my approach was for the male who had been warning her earlier.

Rather than waste my energies on trying to break down her barriers, which would have been infinitely satisfying, feeling her increased terror as I dismantled them bit by bit as she would have to me, I traveled through the antumbra she cast into the shadows of the warehouse. They were _mine_ once again.

I zeroed in on the man, and flew into not only his soul but his body through his silhouette.

Before he realized it I blindfolded his personality, cast it into a pit and coated the space it had occupied with my own. I flexed his fingers as if pulling on a set of gloves. I turned his gaze to the woman. She could feel something was _wrong_ and the flavors of her apprehension were simply divine _._ Her subsequent turn was too slow, as if by delaying her observation she could change the truth.

"Conner?" Her voice trembled almost as badly as her body.

"Conner's not here." I laughed mercilessly in his voice, his intonations, to the woman who would have gladly done the same to me. I sensed her instant denial, refusal to accept what her shaking body already recognized. _Can't have that now, can I?_ I formed a fist of my host's hand and punched her in the jaw. She soared across the room into the far wall. 'Conner' apparently was stronger than he appeared.

The other male in the room, who I now saw to my original opponent, made a brave but futile effort to attack. I sent him flying as well. He did not rise, and I didn't care. He was not my primary concern.

I stalked towards the Martian, as my takeover of 'Conner' had informed me she was. I knew her name as well, but someone like her did not deserve a name, only punishment. She would know it too when I strangled her with the hand of this person she held dear.

Before I got to her, his body was lifted off the ground. I accelerated towards a wall, but stopped abruptly. She had realized it would only be her companion who was hurt. Instead I was turned to face her and pressed back against the wall. She didn't even realize she was crying as she approached.

She mentally stabbed at me again, but if felt… bluer this time. Like it had a varnish of unwilling acceptance that had not yet made it to her sub-consciousness but would allow her to work around her loss. What sort of lives did these people live that they could just accept what she perceived as a death so readily?

The coating was just the beginning though. As she speared, I parted, sending her probe into the empty cavern Conner's mind had occupied. To her it would seem like he was completely gone, though he was actually just stashed out of the way. The mental tentacle was veined blue as it retreated. Message received.

Not well received. Her next attack was reinvigorated, multipronged and covered in thorns that hooked all over my cloak on the body, trying to tear me away. It scratched, but nothing more. Eventually she'd wear me away like sandpaper, if I let her. _Like that would happen_.

There was not a whole lot that I could do to her using this body though, not while she physically pinned me. But there were always other methods. I sent my own vine along the path of hers, back to her mental space. She was not expecting it and I plucked out her weakness.

 _FIRE_. It could not have been more perfect. I stepped out of the body and slide down the shadows on the wall to the floor, reforming.

All the heat, all the hate, mine at both at her and the world, and hers at me and her own failure to crack me, I channeled to my fisted hands. I let the pressure rise and it strained under my skin. She looked down at me and I smiled malevolently in response. Then I splayed my fingers and black fire erupted from every crate in the warehouse.

The air glowed black and rippled with the heat. She faltered, then fell, sweating so badly it seemed she might melt before she burned. The heat was nothing to me; I lived with every day of my life, every day I was ignored, every day I was misunderstood. Every day I reached out to people and felt nothing. Every day husks walked around pretending to be people. It was time those who tried to preserve such an existence experienced it as well.

I watched her suffer. I don't know for how long, I was not paying attention to the time; I wanted it to go on as indefinitely as it had for me. The beams creaked as I watched impassively.

The boy had left at some point, and had returned with help. A young woman with light skin and ginger hair was moving water through the air from a hose spigot onto the fire. For all the good it would do her; this was not the type of fire that could be put out so easily. And her efforts were costing her too; it seemed she shared the Martian's weakness of the heat. _Let her burn too, let anyone who condones this witch's methods go down with her._

The support beams were cracking now. It would not be long before the heat or the building collapse eliminated the monster. I was content to watch; nothing could touch me.

Except the sun. My internal senses alerted me to its approach. As much as I wanted to see this through, I had to get home. I had a life to return to, such that it was. These animals didn't, not anymore. As I set myself to 'port home, the ceiling succumbed to my fires and collapsed. I heard screams coming from where the interlopers had been standing, but I was already on my way.

I got a few hours of sleep upon my return, but they were fitful; the fires I'd unleashed were more than reluctant my attempts to push them back into their habitual corner. The added outrage at what the Martian had tried to do prevented any sort of rationality I usually could muster. I glared at all of the useless, empty people in the dining hall. What a waste of indifferent space the human race was, and how horrible they all were when they chose to act. The woman may have been Martian, but her profile was the same as human. Why had I bothered trying to change this? It was useless. I sat down with my back to the room, not tasting the cereal I forced myself to eat.

Karen sat down across from me. I didn't look up.

"Morning, Fia," she said tiredly.

Even Karen. Karen who thought she cared, was so dedicated to her little science projects. How did they make things better? They didn't. What did people remember from them? Nothing.

"Can you be free tonight?" _People, greedy little things. Only looking out for themselves._ I continued to look at my bowl.

"Fi, are you okay?"

"Fine." I answered tersely. _No, what was your first hint?_

"Did your Neuro test go well?" _Pretending to yourself you care._ I didn't answer.

I could vaguely feel her frowning as I glowered at my food. "Fia, _what_ is your problem?"

I snapped. "I'm done caring; You don't like it, leave!"

She was confused and hurt. So what? She'd leave like any person would. One of the few reasonable things people did.

Karen tentatively put her hand towards mine, but didn't touch, feeling it rightfully to be unsafe. My resonance picture of her resolved itself better. She wasn't going to leave. She did care about me, in her own way. Different from how I cared, but it was semi-genuine. It was her spark of authenticity that pulled me back over the edge I kept finding myself on, the one I'd gone over last night. I took a mental step back and sighed, defeated.

"I'm sorry. I had a rough night, but there is no excuse for me taking it out on you. Sorry." She moved her hand back to around her mug.

"Well, that makes two of us." She was referring to the rough night part. There was more to that statement; it was unsure, unaccepting.

"What happened?" I asked, as was obligitory.

"A friend of mine died in an accident last night." The hard shell that still wrapped me and had cut me off from the light, and apparently my own empathy, shattered, and the haze that had been obscuring my perspective cleared. What sort of terrible person was I to have missed something of such magnitude from my friend?

"Oh my god, Karen." I whispered, truly concerned now that I could actually feel again.

What else could I have said? What else could she say? She didn't know how to feel, it was too unreal.

"I mean, we weren't super close or anything but…"

I finished for her. "She was someone you knew, and now she's gone." She hadn't said it was a girl, but I knew the person was. She didn't contradict me.

"Yeah. Thanks." She looked down into her cup of hot coffee.

"What was her name?"

"Tula."

We shared a moment of silence.

"Do you want me to stay with you today?"

"Yes. No—Maybe… I'm not sure. I think I want to be with Mal for a bit, she was his friend too."

"If you need me, Skype me and I'll be right over. You don't have to worry about the pidgins anymore, remember?" The feeble mention of our joke made her smile weakly. Lex's computer had proved useful for communicating like a normal person.

"I will. Thanks."

We sat in silence again, and my now cleared mind turned back to what I had done hours earlier. What _had_ I done? I closed my eyes and replayed the scene. The fury was still in the memory, but detached from me now… Connor; I'd tossed him aside like a dirty rag. Treated him no better than that alien had treated me; violating his fortress if not his mind. I hadn't even bothered to make sure he'd come back from oblivion once I'd left. And he was the one who'd been defending me against the Martian, at least to some degree.

Then I heard the water girl scream. In my memory I could hear her life flow with it.

The floor seemed to drop out from under me, leaving me in free fall. _I killed her_ …? _I'd killed her._ I knew nothing about her. Clearly she'd had her own friends, even if were the type of people I abhorred. She died trying to protect them. And probably had more friends than that. And family. _Other people, other people actually have family, who unconditionally love them. You always forget that._ I'd stolen all that she was, without even knowing her. I'd been completely consumed by what I had felt from the Martian.

 _Worse; resonance only amplifies if there is similarity; you had that malice on your own_. My mind switched involuntarily to the perspective of the Martian. I was a danger to the people she loved. I'd thought I'd been helping mankind, but now someone was _dead_. All over some object I didn't even know. Really, over some misguided quest to change the unchangeable system that _only_ I thought broken. All my efforts only ever ended in death.

Self-loathing oozed in my veins and no amount of washing would ever be able to clean it out. I yearned to slice open my forearms in what I knew would be futile attempt at draining out the poison I'd infected myself with.

"Fi, you look really pale all the sudden, are you alright?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm…just suddenly not feeling well... I hate to leave you now, but I think I need to lie down." Her concern for me was an anathema, completely undeserved.

"Of course, feel better." My stomach heaved at her compassion, and I barely managed swallow down the bile.

"If you need me, call me." I didn't know what good an actual monstrosity like me could do for her, but leaving her to fend for herself would make nothing anything better. At least that much was still clear.

I stumbled back to my room and fell on my bed, trembling as I stared at the ceiling. I didn't even reach for my wolf; I didn't want to contaminate his purity. Incoherent thoughts wandered in and out of my attention. When all the pieces had settled into the larger picture, I was left with only a task and a conviction.

I turned on the computer and called up Lex.

"Miss Sullivan," he acknowledged, nothing more.

"I'm done," I said simply.

"I'm sorry to hear that, you have been quite useful. But I understand that this arrangement is not satisfactory at the moment and agree that a hiatus would be in both our best interests. I'll be in touch." He cut the connection. He'd known this was coming and he was done with me for now for his own reasons. I wasn't mad, I wasn't upset, I wasn't anything.

People were so unfeeling all the time because it was impossible to be so aware and not burst, become insane. It wasn't healthy. It wasn't what worked. Mindfulness was a fat that while it felt good in the eating, blocked arteries and lead to an early, painful death. I couldn't keep standing at the edge of that cliff, looking down. There was no doubt that humanity was barreling towards disaster, but there was nothing I could do to stop it, and my involvement only seemed to make life harder on those trying to enjoy the bubble before it burst. If I didn't murder them.

So I left. I don't know how else to explain what happened to me after this realization. My body was still in school, it walked, it talked, it even cared to the degree that everyone else did. But I wasn't. I barely watched my life passively move along. Just, complete disconnection, another half-person in the rest of the sea, no longer fighting the current. It wasn't easy, it wasn't hard, it just was.

Whatever was left was there for Karen when she called about Tula. It hugged her when she cried. It gave advice to her a couple months later when a friend, Kal-something, started hanging with a bad crowd and pulling away from her. I don't think whatever advice my stand-in had given worked because she stopped talking about him abruptly. Whatever was left of me was what she need though; this was the only thing I could actually do to ease the suffering in the world, suffering I had in part caused.

No one noticed my absence, because nothing seemed to change to people who had thought that they knew me. They had only known the public self I had not been unable to present. It didn't work to broadcast on a frequency no one else received. Though there had been so much more to me, the people surrounding me had not looked for and therefore not seen, because there was no more depth to themselves. No one had been looking as I had and been left lonely. The world didn't want or need the real me.

So no one noticed any different. I was just another outline of a person.

I would have found it sad, if I had been there to feel.

* * *

[1] I later hypothesized it had something to do with the physiological-ethereal feedback. My physical senses were sensitive to light because of my nature. However when they were overloaded by the intensity of the initial light, the connection was temporarily snapped and my body's reaction returned to that of a normal person, while my being continued to take damage. But that's just a theory.


	7. 7: Gone and Back Again

Chapter 7

Time moved, and my outline didn't care didn't care. She received straight A's which might as well have been turnips. She was accepted by a couple of internship program's I'd applied to in the winter; all of them were unappealing now. Classes and activities drifted by like clouds that never rained.

This went on for maybe a few months, maybe a year, maybe only days. In retrospect it was only months, the spring, but the time it felt both short and infinite.

I'm sickened by what I did that necessitated my absence in the first place. But more than _anything_ I'm ashamed of the thoughts went through my head before my return, the thoughts that should never have been mine but are now forever in my keeping. I _am_ responsible for the thoughts, opinions, actions, or lack thereof, of whatever was holding my place, though I wish I were not.

It was a Tuesday. Monday would have made more sense, but life's like that. Monday is the day that everyone hates, that bad things should happen on. But calendars are unchangeable, and it was a Tuesday.

She was sitting in biology class. It took place in a huge lecture hall with stadium seating, a sea of faces staring with varying degrees of interest at the screen and the little man with a pointer below it. She was paying attention, but listlessly, eyes straight ahead, absorbing but not reacting. Her neighbor on one side was asleep, the other scribbling furiously at a notepad.

BOOM

The building shook. In that one moment, every body in the room jumped regardless of its previous state of attention. It was pure reflex. In everyone but her.

There was a heavily suppressed air of fear and confusion. People weren't sure whether to run or hide, and as a consequence did neither. The professor was just as unsure and oblivious as the young souls who needed his guidance.

Fortunately or unfortunately they were not left to flounder for long. The image on the projection screen flickered, then was replaced by a young man.

As he casually adjusted the camera she heard whispers around her.

"What's going on?—"

"Should we run?—"

"Has someone locked the doors?—"

"Professor?—"

The man on the screen seemed satisfied with his focusing and leaned back. He cleared his throat and the room quieted.

"Hello fellow Ivies!" He paused for effect.

There whispering intensified.

"Who is that?—"

"—looks familiar—"

"—name's Eric?"

"No, Frank, wait, maybe—"

"I didn't know the projection computers could be remotely hacked like that." That last one was her voice, but no one took any notice. The man on screen resumed his speech.

"You are probably wondering who I am by now. Well, you've never cared before, at any of my protests or when you threw me in dumpsters, so I don't see why it should matter now. And therein lays the root of the problem. No one really gives a fuck at all." _Can't argue with you there right now._

"I've been watching you, from that table in the corner, listening in. You just yap yap yap. Nothing matters to you. Not human trafficking, not drug wars, not bullying, racism, poverty gun violence. No, you're concerned with, "Think I can nail that hot chick from Russian Lit?" and "Man, my hangover is so bad, but at least my beer pong game is the shit!" You don't even work on _fixing_ your own problems, gaining support from your so-called 'friends'. All you do is use others, or let yourself be used." _Perceptive guy._ Someone began sobbing quietly in the back of the class.

"Don't believe me? Well, that's nothing new. I've got stories, A to Z, but I don't much see much point in telling you, because you'd all just push the wrongdoings of others to the back of your minds. Or at least you would, if you were going to live long enough.

"You see, I'm done. I've tried isolation, counseling, booze at a so-called friend's suggestion. That at least let me sleep a little, but nothing has kept my disgust at bay. I tried protesting and activism, letters to senators, peace core, all that sure as hell didn't work. If anything it made everyone just stick their heads a little deeper in the sand thinking the issue was being taken care of! But every other day there's another mass shooting. Another Sandy Hook, another Virginia Tech, another Aurora. On a related note, what is up with shooting up theaters with super hero movies? They can't even let good triumph over evil fictitiously? Well, I can't live with it, being unable to change anything." _This could have been her once, but this sand is softer._

He took a quick but deep breath, resolution on his face. "So, yeah, I'm finished. And I could just quietly off myself, but if I can't manage to have my life remembered for doing something positive, let me be the person who did something so terrible it forced change and saved people in the future. And this will put all of you out of my misery. And _your_ own misery, whether you recognize it as such or not. If I fail in the long term? Well I won't be around to find out, now will I?" _Logical._ The room was silent now.

"Oh, how could I have forgotten? Why I'm giving you all this little speech? I want your last…hmm, maybe fifteen minutes?—to be spent thinking about how else you could have made a difference with your lives, but now you'll just be a statistic with your deaths." He zoomed the camera out and behind him were the cratered remains of the electrical circuit to the science building. He was standing next to the bloody remains of a staff member.

"I blew the power to the science building. I'm not exactly sure what's going on in there, but I'm pretty sure if it's not nuclear, it's close, and it's definitely not stable. You can run if you like, but I seriously doubt you can out run the impending blast. Plus I set up a few surprises for anyone who tries to come in or out." A slow smile crept onto his face, one of long-withheld relief. He could not have been more care free, at last. His shoulders were relaxed, and he was just kind of lounging there, talking about the demise of at least half the town.

And it would be half the town. She knew what was in the science building; the synthetic dwarf star would go nova without the proper environment, maintained of course by the electricity. They really were all doomed. She looked down and inspected her nails. There was a little dirt under that of the ring finger on her right hand. She used the thumb nail on the opposing hand to dislodge it, then bit off a hang nail on the pinky.

"As for me, I'd love to stick around and watch the fireworks, but I've got a feeling that the line into hell's about to get pretty long. I've waited enough." He pulled out an automatic rifle from off camera. "I've got more than a few extra speed-passes here, so anyone who wants to join me, just let me know. If something's worth doing, it's worth over doing. Feel free to run, scream, panic, or plot, or whatever, but seriously, consider for once in your lives doing something of consequence. Call someone and tell them you care, if any of you really do, which I find hard to believe. Otherwise, maybe call the news and say some last words. Particularly you, Tabatha, tell your dad Senator 'Guns are a God Given Right', see if you can change his mind, if I've managed to change yours." He half rolled his eyes and let out a pft of incredulity. "Tell everyone to learn from this, because there will be others, others who won't stop at a college, they'll just wipe out the human race. And at this point, with my blessing, you all deserve it. If you disagree, take the opportunity to do something worthwhile, for once.

"See you all in hell." The screen went dark. Pumped up kicks began playing on the intercom.

It's a testament to the power of the media that everyone sat still while a big head talked on the screen. But once the focal point was gone, chaos ensued.

As can be expected, some ran for it. _Running from their problems like they always have_. Some sobbed uncontrollably. Some alone, some in groups. _Guess he did succeed in bringing some people together_. Gun shots began to pepper the air, which just caused people to scream. _Do they have to be so loud?_ Some guys were beating up another. One dude had the victim's wallet, as if the 32 extra bucks would mean anything in a few moments. _Really are some bad people around here aren't there? Enough to drive any optimist off the cliff._

Some people were kind of just wandering around aimlessly. She thought she saw a couple snogging under a desk. Wasn't anyone she'd seen together, so probably a last minute admission. Or maybe they just didn't want to die alone; it wasn't important.

Some were in a heated debate; she assumed trying to plan something. _There's nothing to be done._ She alone sat unmoved from the beginning of the lecture.

Thoughts floated around. _It's about time someone acknowledged the state of things and did something big. It was bound to happen eventually. Probably would have been me, if I weren't too cowardly to let the oblivious enjoy it, weren't willing to sink to their level. We are all just wasting oxygen and poisoning everything we touch. There is not a single thing worth saving out of this entire campus. It's time to go._ All she felt was calm, truly peaceful. She would have to thank the guy for speaking up if she met him down below. She kept watching the ants scurry. For all intents and purposes, _she_ was already dead, so what was the use in worrying over the dismantlement of her body?

Someone wanted a last breath of fresh air. Or to escape, how should she know? He tried to open the window, but it was boarded over on the top half to keep the room dim for the projector. The boards limited the wideness the window could open to a scant four inches. Someone else help him yank of the covering. Together they shoved the window all the way up.

The breeze was fresh. And the removal of the slats let sunlight spill into the room. It brushed her cheek, but she felt no push at her center, for there was nothing there to resist.

But the light did stir something: a memory.

Of a guy who had seen fit to shield a stranger, from something so innocuous as sunlight.

She had forgotten.

The bubble of memory percolated towards the surface of reality, orienting the diver long pinned down by riptide, lost and accepting of the inevitable. The mirrored surface that had been her existence clung to her as she breached, giving one last pretense of confinement, before sliding away completely.

 _I_ rushed back into myself like the air to lungs, filling the place I was meant to be. Back at last.

My first thoughts were: _It was_ not _cowardice that made me go. It was recognition that even though I don't understand the world, people think it works. That for the most part they are satisfied with their lives, petty and insignificance as they are. As destructive and doomed as they are. As meaningless and empty. It_ was _cowardice to leave because I couldn't watch. But this? This could never be me._

 _It is not my place to act on my judgments._

The last thought was reassuringly solid in the churning state of things as I settled back into myself.

 _Karen_. Karen cared more than most. She would be trying to stop this. I couldn't let a person with her potential be destroyed. I couldn't let my friend die. Even if at some level, I wanted the slate of those around me wiped _…_ _including hers…._ _,_ I could not sit by and watch it happen this way at the hands of one frustrated man. _This won't solve the long term problem; he sees it as euthanasia and inoculation, but it will only create more pain for those who are left behind_. _There's enough pain. I created enough pain._

I had thought the kindest thing to do was to get out of the way. But I could make the failure of humanity easier on the individuals, give them a better chance at happiness, even if I believed it impossible. There was no use in trying to achieve as much for myself; I no longer deserved it even if it were possible. But if my life wasn't personal, if I wasn't its focus, that might at least be something.

If there was anything I could do about the impending eradication, it would be at the lab. I tore past the arguers, past the weepers, past the aimless, past the couple, though the gang, pushing them aside. The hallways through which I hurtled were eerily silent; the only noise my labored breathing and the squeak of my sneakers on the tiled floor. The fluorescent lighting made everything look hazy and the brief patches of window sun were by contrast far too vibrant, refracting bizarrely through the glass.

With each pounding step my muscles heaved. Each stride stretched my legs as I strove against my physical limitations and the clock, each second weighing on me like lead.

The rhythm of my flight was joined by the ratta-tatta of the automatic. But there was only so fast I could go.

My stomach was in knots of worry and exertion and my lungs caught on each intake by the time I reached the Palmer Lab. I puffed pathetically as I fell against the door, pressing my flushed face against its cool metal as it swung inwards. As I had suspected, Karen was already typing furiously at a computer. I have no idea what I would have done if she hadn't been. Some of the emergency systems were evidently still working. But were enough?

"Karen, status?" I panted.

"Too much is down. I don't know if I can do enough to stabilize it in time, or even if there's enough power period."

"What can I do?"

"I don't know. Check the energy exchange efficiency on the temperature regulator. And its stability." I started typing away at the console next to her. I wasn't sure what they all meant, but the reds of the typeface weren't encouraging.

"Did you talk to Mal?"

"Briefly." She said with a grateful air.

I read off the information on my screen. "Time?"

Her eyes were still flying across the text that scrolled down her monitor. At the next blink her eyes shifted right as she ran the numbers I'd found. "Five minutes? Maybe." Coherent conversation dried up as her attention focused solely on the circuits and networks. Routing around damages, pumping in more amps than the wires were designed to withstand. I did what little troubleshooting I'd been taught, replacing the overflow batteries that bled off energy fluctuation. They were meant to last week, but each was filled within a minute. It was like trying to stop the titanic from sinking using a sponge. Each time I made a switch, heat squeezed out of cracks of the main containment unit, a preamble to the tsunami to follow.

One minute to go, and 80% of the way to stabilizing the core temperature increase enough to buy us more time, so Karen said. Sweat apart from that of the exertion of running and the heat of the room began to run down my temples. I tried to stop my fingers from shaking as they latched the auxiliary units in place. The fear of the school bore down on me through my resonance, staler and more oppressive than the hot, fizzing air.

Karen gave a noise of satisfaction and relief as she finally made real headway. A safety valve finally activated with a sharp POP.

The sudden noise out of nothing made me flinch, and defensively startled my disruptive field beyond the confines of my body.

And thus I fried the stations.

"Nonononono," Karen moaned. Her hands hovered for a moment, then drew away from the key board. She leaned against a counter behind her and banged her fist down. "That's it."

This was all my fault. I shouldn't have come, shouldn't have been there, shouldn't have existed. We'd been so close. If I'd hadn't been me we could have stopped this. If—

"It's been nice knowing you. Sorry I didn't get to know you better; I should've. Not many people would run towards certain destruction."

No, I couldn't let it end like this. Couldn't let her die because I couldn't control what I was. Who I was. Maybe though…

With a confidence I didn't have I forced myself to say, "Karen, get under the lab bench, under the fire blanket and keep your head down." I didn't like my vague back up plan, but it was all that was left. I had no idea what the odds of success were, just a gut feeling it might be possible, that it might be in me to at least curtail the devastation I had caused.

"Why bother?"

Tightly, full of nerves and no longer bothering to check myself, I begged. "Why not? Please?" Something in my voice made her comply.

Now paying more attention to the forces around me than the virtual world, I could feel the synthetic star's energy start to fluctu ate, spin off kilter. I turned away from its chamber and looked at the sunlight through the window. I let it flow into me, pushing my center away from my skin. I didn't fill the vacuum with the light as usual, instead focusing on maintaining the space to contain at least some of the imminent eruption. I ignored the cramped feeling I always had in such a state and the hollowness I'd created. I waited. Not for long.

Hydrogen that normally sustained the synthetic star fragment accelerated to its surface. The molecules ignited, then fused. A cataclysmic nuclear reaction ensued. Had this been a whole star, more than the solar system would be gone, but as a synthetic fragment, it would merely obliterate the town.

I tried to be brave. I thought of Bee, of the boy from the cafe, and most of all of myself. This darkness I looked out from, was what I _was_. It had been a mistake to think I could effect change myself; shadows shift, they do not force. I tried to believe that if this was it, this sacrifice would erase some of the damage I had done in the misguided attempt to break that nature. _This_ was what I was meant for, to soften the blow for those who might improve the world, those who had the capacity and right to do so. My life was not my own and it was demanded of me now.

A tune(footnote-1) started going through my head, steady, slow, inevitable, heavy….

The fiery energy surged from the decaying star bit. I held out both hands, fingers splayed, legs braced, willing myself to be an overflow canal. Resolute as I was afraid. The waves eagerly rushed in to fill the empty space within me, following the path of least resistance. Relentless as time. As the fearsome hot power poured in, I was no longer in the lab, in the school, on the planet. I watched from inside myself, behind the sunlight-lined dark shield in the middle of the firestorm. The shadows tried to blanket me, tried to comfort, but the battery continued, shaking the shelter which was me.

The fires continued to pour in. I shuddered and braced the boundaries of myself against them, but that only caused the blaze that flickered at the boundaries of my skin to become a constant pressure. At the pain I recoiled deeper and the tide followed me down. Each heartbeat was forced against the plasmic miasma.

Though the shield for the moment held against the heat and the power, dread diffused right through it and bore down on me. It locked my chest in place, forbidding me to breathe, to make any more room. No longer could I brace my central sphere against the pressure; fear led flame, both constricting my essence. Beating me down. Smaller. Crushing. Dizzying. My skin simmered from the inside. No longer could I keep my arms reaching out to the source, they'd crossed over my chest, clutching, physically trying to hold in the tides as much as they futilely tried to shield me from more onslaught. My body curled, head tucked down.

I fell to my knees.

Still the fire grew. Something had to give. I lifted my head and _screamed_. The release was insignificant compared to magnitude that I held, that continued to inundate me, but just the act of unchaining, that lessening, was akin to rapture. Just that tiny outlet. Fire incinerated the ceiling above me and roared in into the sky carried by my shriek as fright clawed up my throat.

There was nothing I could do except hang on. From the origin of the singularity that was my center, grew a darkness.

It wasn't my type of darkness. It had a different texture—not soft and mercurial, this— it defied movement, time, change, control.

I couldn't feel it.

Never before had there been a shadow that I had not been a part of, that had not been a part of me.

This, this was different. Coming to take me away, from my one place of safety.

In pure primal panic I rammed against the fire. Anything to get away from-That.

With the shift, the shell that separated the fires from my essence shattered like glass. Like carbon dioxide after a failure in an extinguisher, my darkness billowed outwards, flowing as much towards the fire as away from that foreignness. I swept over my opposite, neutralizing and dousing as I did. My inner strength faltered at sheer magnitude of what I had to overcome. Yet mortal terror drove me with a whip.

I dredged the last of my dark force to the limits of my frame, over the last of the nova.

It was enough.

All in the span of seconds.

Thank everything it was only seconds.

I fell forwards, well and completely empty of everything, even relief that I yet lived. Fire was buzzing at my ears, but I was like wet ashes, unable to truly burn twice.

Flames were also the only thing in my vision. A rain drop hissed as it fell from the hole in the ceiling into them. Its brothers followed and eventually the fire died down. I have no idea of how long it was; my sense of time was gone too.

I managed to turn my head to the other side. Moving anything else was too much effort. This half of the lab seemed better off than my initial view, though everything was in disarray. Something had fallen in front of the desk that Karen had hidden under, and I couldn't tell if my efforts had saved her.

"Karen?" The word puffed out of my mouth, but it failed to shape the air into a distinguishable sound.

I wheezed and tried again. "K—?" That was at least the right sound. The fallen object fell and moved the fire blanket with it, revealing her. She was completely soaked in sweat, her hair plastered to her nutmeg skin and her eyes glassy. "Karen?" The entire name inched through the air now. Her eyes flicked to me. I shut mine in relief.

"Whoa." She whispered. I raised my eyebrows in agreement, but kept my eyes shut. My hair tickled my cheek.

"Your hair… its…like bleach blond…" Guess I didn't quite succeed in putting everything out, my appearance must still have been as it was when I tapped into the sun. I looked at her, not sure how to explain or reassure. "And your eyes are blue… what? How are okay?"

I gave up, "I'm not." I groaned closing my eyes again.

I heard metal groaning and scraping. Then a shuffling on the floor. I forced myself to look, Bee was reaching out. I heard the telltale buzz of unhappy technology. It'd be a shame for her to survive this only to have the phone blow glass into her hip.

"Don't."

"How in the name of everything are you not dead? How am I not dead? That meltdown should have taken out at least the town."

"Can we talk about it when I feel less like burnt toast? Less leathery, crispy, and dry?"

"You're making jokes now?"

"No, I'm serious."

"But you sounded…"

"Sometimes it's not how you say it, it's what you say."

"That's the exact opposite of conventional wisdom."

"'s true."

"You are making no sense."

"Sometimes you have to not think about something for it to make sense. A lot of the time…" I _was_ feeling less like burnt toast. Surely, ants wouldn't be crawling under the skin burnt toast. I shivered with the cold that radiated from each pin prick of their foot falls.

"Fia, between the appearance, the nonsense, and the whole 'we're not dead' thing, you are seriously freaking me out!"

"You blame me? Said… wait. Please?"

She seemed about to reply harshly, but hesitated and changed her mind. "You did. But you _will_ explain later?"

"You arren't going to give me much a ch-choice." I got through chattering teeth. "'S'ta say yes."

The silence descended again. I couldn't tell if the tiles of the floor wicked away heat or radiated cold. Eventually she spoke.

"That doesn't look very comfortable."

"Not."

"Can you—" she started, still wary of my warning about contact.

"Tired."

"I need to put out what's left of the lab, can you hang on a sec,"

" ' Be fine." Though I was completely spent, by the mere principle of my survival my dusky center was regenerating. But at the moment I was sweating and trembling. "How long do you think until someone shows up?" I asked weakly.

"No way to know. Depen's on how serious Arthur was about the extra traps."

"You knew him?"

"I'd been to a couple of his protests. I just can't believe he'd do something like _this_. He was always so dedicated, so resolute…"

"A b-bone without collagen; some people brrreak before they bend." I said more to myself than her.

"I guess… If he's still alive, maybe the psychiatric people will be able to make sense of… all this. He was tryin' to explain, on that broadcast, but it didn't make no sort of sense." _Not to you maybe_.

"Doubt it." _It's the sort of thing you either understand or you don't._

"It was just so… so… _wrong_."

"Hmm." _Wrong yet correct._

It was at this point that I passed out.

I briefly woke up in my bed, which should have been a surprise, but all I realized was that I was near Hym. I pulled the wolf close, curling an arm around him protectively. He was a balm on my pitiful remains, my soul and center, a store of everything I had depleted. I lay there, collapsed in my sorry sanctuary.

I hadn't realized I'd fallen asleep, but really it was no surprise when I woke up to find it the next day. My hair was still bleached and my cheeks felt flushed. Karen was watching me from the desk chair, next to an IV that was feeding me fluids, though where that came from I didn't know. I change positions, careful not to disturb the dry bandaging my arms been wrapped in, though it hurt. Thank god for her former EMT training. She waited patiently, understandingly.

I didn't want to start this conversation. What would I say to her? I'd just done something completely impossible, even by my standards. How could anyone understand? And I couldn't talk to her about why I had done it either. I couldn't let her know what crimes I had committed that required such penance, accidental and not. From what she knew of me, my actions would seem out of character.

And she couldn't know that I was truly of the shadows. People are inherently afraid of the dark; they see it as evil, malevolent. She might come around eventually, but people fear power, and they fear what they don't understand. I couldn't risk losing her, not this pillar that was as close as I had to load bearing. Not right now.

I took a preparative breath and realized how woozy I felt. The room didn't stop moving when my eyes did and it felt like there were marshmallows under my skull. My skin was uncomfortably hot wherever it touched flannel, yet a deep cold resided in my bones and snaked through my muscles. But I had to say something. "Okay. Go."

She started off immediately, very assiduously; clearly she'd been considering her line of questioning while I'd been out.

"Are you okay?"

"Still not really. On the road to normal, maybe? I feel funny." Bless that for being her first question. And bless the steadily returning power that was an anchor against the hollowness I still felt.

She smiled slightly, but seriously. In modestly sarcastic tones she said, "I'm not surprised. Your fever's 102.3, and that's down from when I first brought you here. Thermometer said 104 at first, but that can't've been right… So in that respect, you are on the 'road to normal'."

"Casualties?" I asked before she could start what was clearly going to be a warranted interrogation.

All traces of smile faded instantly. "The initial blast killed three people. Arthur killed another twenty six and injured thirteen before he shot himself. Police car and its two passengers were blown up by a trap. People're pretty shaken, but mostly the devices have been disabled at this point, estimate another few hours before the all clear. It couldda been a lot worse." She phrased her answer like she was used to giving reports, before returning to her line of questioning. "What… What did _you_ do?" Even though she'd had time to pick her wording, she still couldn't quite frame the question. It wasn't exactly the sort of thing that was easy to frame. Still, her question was firm, almost accusatory, though she tried to hide that.

Time to explain. How could I explain? Normal people didn't have powers, weren't raised in a lab and trained to use them for... well, I didn't know what for. But it wasn't the sort of thing one would just blithely accept. What if she went digging? Giving her too much of a thread of truth might allow her unravel the tapestry of lies woven to give me a second chance. But I had to say something. What choice did I have?

The fog clouds in my head vaguely shaped themselves into an alternative option.

"What do you mean?" I asked fuzzily, fabricating my next words as fast as I could with the sluggishness of my thought.

"What do I mean? You tell me to get unda that bench, next thing I know everything's on fire instead of atomized and you're passing for a Valley Girl."

"I didn't do anything. I was trying to hide too when it went off." She didn't look as if she was about to accept that answer. "I don't know what happened to me. I think…" I paused for effect as if I were truly thinking about it, "It felt like I absorbed a lot of the fragment's energy. It had some weird effect on me or something when it went Nova."

Karen still looked skeptical, but I could tell the idea of such an unusual effect of the fragment wasn't out of the question in her mind.

"So, what, now you're going to explode?"

"I don't think so, but…" I held out my hand to give a demonstration of my 'new ability', biting my lip to give the appearance of unsureness.

"Shit!" I cried as my control evaporated and the flame I'd intended to be candle size bloomed into that of a torch. I snapped my hand shut to extinguish the flame, but not before it caught the bandages. I rapidly beat them out on the bed, wary of my ability to put them out mentally. It seemed I wasn't well enough to have a safe, restrained release of energy. I sagged to a very real wave of faintness.

Karen was a taken aback, but not as much as I would have expected. Her look was more calculating.

"Well, that's new," I wheezed. I made a decision to get the other powers out of the way. I closed my eyes and extended my field outward. It was weak enough just then that I thought it wouldn't do any real damage even with my poor control. The digital displays on Karen's watch and phone began to brighten and dim spasmodically.

"What the…? Is this you?" She asked, almost irritated more than frightened or confused.

"Huh?" I opened my eyes and assessed her person. "I don't know, maybe? Give me a second." I closed my eyes again and, after several seconds, retracted my aura and put a hand to my head to try to contain its throbbing. Without looking I asked, "That do anything?"

"Yeah, but my watch needs resetting."

"It's 9:37," I said apologetically. She looked at her phone's display.

"How'd you know that?"

"Where the sun is," I answered unthinkingly. She accepted this as a part of my 'new' skill set as well.

The cold of the temperature I ran dug deeper, and I shivered. Only my core warm with the typical dampening of dark. I pushed that outwards against the light still I held to try to counteract the feel of the fever. I overshot and my light façade fell away, quenched. Karen was looking at me, brows crinkled in thought.

"Let me see…" she said to herself as she pulled up the shade on my window. Smart girl. "Feel anything?"

"Wait…" I did so for a few seconds before obligingly absorbing just enough to switch my appearance back. "Well, that's cool," I muttered for her benefit. The cold crept back with the light and I released it again.

She had something else to say, but was clearly debating whether she should. She did.

"I…know some people. With special skill sets. Not like yours, but… They might be able to help you figure out what's going on. Maybe you should joi—" She stopped at my look of alarm at that word, "— talk to them?"

"I don't want that sort of attention," I moaned.

"I know, but trust me, Fia. Just let me set something up. See if the leader'd even be willing to see you. And if you really can't stand the idea, I'll drop it. I'm not even sure that they want to take on anyone else right now, things have been crazy lately."

"You seen Mal yet?" I asked, desperate to try and avoid being thrust naked into the spotlight, be a spectacle.

"Yes, don't you go changing the subject."

"What could they possibly do in a situation like this? I don't want to end up someone's guinea pig," _Been there, done that_. Really, rats and mice were more in use now, but guinea pig continued to roll off the tongue better.

"They aren't like that. They protect people, help those who can't protect themselves. They'll help protect you from people who _are_ like that, at the very least." At least she wasn't so naïve as to think that my concepts weren't a probability. "If you don't trust them, then at least trust me."

I just wanted to go back to sleep. I didn't realize 'til later that this would mean more people to lie to, more people who wouldn't understand why I was me. More expectations I couldn't meet and more alienation when I didn't. I didn't need them to protect me, even had I deserved protecting. But the one detail that made it through to me was that they helped people. They might be able to teach me that, since I was so piss-poor at it on my own. "Fine. You can check, if _this_ ," I said vaguely gesturing at the air, "doesn't just go away." I could just pretend it had, but I could already tell I wouldn't. Damn curiosity. Damn the desire to learn, to compulsion to serve.

My guard was too feeble to keep me from saying what I said next. "Just, please, don't think of me any different." At least she hadn't run off screaming.

"Fo' what it's worth, to me you will always be Fia first, and the girl who put out a star fragment second." And, beyond belief, she radiated truth.

"Thanks." _But you don't even know Fia…_

One of my dreams over the next few nights was someone's memory that they were reliving in their sleep. Though I never have much direction in the dream realm, I often end up in dreams that relate to me when they existed. I never got picture, but the voices in the dark were Karen and someone vaguely familiar.

 _—"_ _That's… incredible,"_

 _"_ _So?"Karen asked._

 _"_ _So what?"_

 _"_ _Do you think she should join The Team?"_

 _"_ _Bee, I just took over." The male sighed, "There's been too much upheaval. I think it'd be better if I just let things settle down first."_

 _"_ _Nightwing, she could really use some friends. She's really loyal and caring; being a part of The Team would honestly do her good."_

 _There was a grimace in Nightwing's reply, "I have to think of what's best for The Team. Not her, or you."_

 _"_ _She would be good for The Team! Having someone new around here might even help take everyone's mind off of Kaldur…"_

 _The name seemed to hit a sore spot. "Nothing could compensate for a betrayal like his…"_

 _"_ _I know. But you need to step up and do_ something. _" That seemed a little disrespectful, but apparently worked._

 _"_ _You're right" He chewed on the words, "I'll see if I can organize a team event outside of missions. Everyone needs to see we are still strong, still a Team."_

 _"_ _And my friend?"_

 _"_ You _said she might not even want to."_

 _"_ _She's shy, but she's reasonable. She'll recognize that it's the right thing for her, I think. I can't know one way or the o'her unless you agree to talk to her."_

 _"_ _Fine," he sighed, "Set up a time, we'll come to you."_

 _"_ _Who's we?"_

 _"_ _She should know who she's going to be working with."_

 _"_ _Nightwing, she gets really overwhelmed by people, particularly when she doesn't know what to expect."_

 _"_ _Then tell her what to expect." He said as if it were obvious._

 _"_ _Then she'll make up her mind before even meeting you!"_

 _"_ _If she's so judgmental, she doesn't belong here" He said harshly._

 _"_ _Ugg. You are missing the point. Just, don't bring too many people with you. Maybe just M'gann or someone, if you really think it necessary. She already knows Mal and me… if not in costume. And don't bring Lagon, he's not exactly a poster child for the Team."_

 _I heard him shift and sigh reluctantly. "I see your point. Just me and M'gann."_

 _"_ _Thank you." Bee said a tad sardonically._

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	8. 8: Exposure and Tough Choices

Chapter 8

My leg was bouncing under the picnic table where we sat waiting for… _What was his name again? Damn, I've for gotten it already. Shoot. How do I ask again without being awkward?—It's…_ _Nightwing_ — _Right, thanks…_ and one of the other senior members. I cracked my fingers to have something to do with my hands.

"Relax," Bee commanded, "he doesn't bite."

"Why are we meeting him here again?"

"Because _you_ wanted to meet on neutral ground. Something about not want'in them to know who you are. Ya do realize that with me as your contact, it isn't hard to back track where you're from, even without me saying anything." I looked down. She had a point, but I hoped my altered appearance and common curtesy would be enough to keep whoever this group was from prying into my personal life— _Such that it is —_ and thus a link to my past.

"It's 5:07, they should be here by now…"

"Fi, you are the only person with such an exact sense of timing. Do me a favor and just take a breath? I don't know what you're so afraid of."

I obeyed. "Neither do I. If I did, maybe I wouldn't be so freaked."

It was always this way with new people. Each new class was an exercise in nighmarishness. Sitting down early, watching new people come in. Worrying they would sit next to me. Would know my name, if nothing else, and I'd know their mood, but have no idea of their name. That I'd have nothing to say. And the constant hyperawareness of it all...

It wasn't even a fear that people would find out what I was—that would have been reasonable. Intro Psych would suggest it to be a fear of rejection, a fear of saying the wrong thing. That would explain why I generally said nothing. It was ridiculous, because no one paid much attention, and I always said the wrong thing, so I shouldn't have feared it. I needed to just relax. Every time though, every time I felt boxed up, caged, blinded. Like I had no choice but to act invisible, and hope to hope no one noticed me.

I had no idea which of the people around me was 'Nightwing', was the person who was going to determine if I was fit to join The Team, Karen had called it. Did I even want to? More people? Was I worthy of it? Karen had made a convincing argument, though at that moment I remembered none of it. The knowledge that on this occasion, I was going to be judged had all my systems scattered, from rationality to resonance.

I alternated between looking at my hands and looking for our contacts. Could it be the tall blond? Or older looking redhead? The stocky Hispanic? The hansom guy in the sunglasses and the baggy jeans? Surely not the mullet guy.

"Stop hyperventilating," Karen commanded, exasperated. I succeeded in breathing steadily, but it didn't relieve the tightness in my chest. I was _this_ close breaking out in a sickly sweat. I tried to distract myself by returning to people watching.

Maybe the scruffy black dude reading under the tree? Or….

Wait. My eyes flicked back to the guy in the sunglasses. He looked familiar, but I knew I didn't actually know him. It was like someone was yelling at me from a long way off, or a tap on one shoulder when the person was actually on the other side.

Then came that "Sometimes I wonder why that Frisbee is getting larger, and then it hits me" moment. _Him? Here? Now? How? Oh my god, does he remember me?_ This new development completely replaced my worry about the meeting. This was worse. _He's coming this way. Should I wave?_ _OF COURCE NOT! HEAD DOWN, HEAD DOWN!_ _But…_ _DOWN_ _._ He was walking with someone, a slender and pale young woman with hair only slightly longer than his, but fuller, more styled, and the color of a fall white oak leaf. She wore dark jeans and a yellow cardigan over a cream camisole, all of which hugged her curves. Her face was sunny and freckled, clearly she was enjoying the day, but there was a seriousness under that. _Are they a couple?_ They weren't holding hands… surely I'd be able to tell that even if all my senses were on the fritz… but still.

He really WAS walking this way. I struggled to keep any sign of my recognition off my face. It was too weird; I was never supposed to see him again. There was no way I could follow up my previous performance. I wanted to be remembered that way, the way I could be, not the doormat I always was…

He and his companion sat down across the table from me and Bee. He was opening his mouth now…

"Karen." He greeted.

"Hey, Bee," His partner echoed.

"Hey! Nightwing, Megan, this is Nova. Nova, Nightwing, Megan." Bee introduced using the moniker I'd chosen in case this worked out. Or in all probability, to protect my identity when it didn't.

 _Wait. What? You know him? He knows you? What? This is who we're meeting. W' the hell—_

"Hello," I greeted aloud, hesitant and automatic.

It was at this point that I remembered I didn't look the same as I had when I'd first met him. I was charged for this occasion, hiding behind the California-esq façade that came with it. Still… _This has to be some sort of joke._ A cosmic joke. A sick and cruel one, but a joke none the less. _Are you kidding me? Seriously. Wait, maybe it's not him. I'm sure lots of guys look like that, and you only saw him once._ I let the conversation continue as I tried to calm myself enough to check him with my resonance. I couldn't even see his eyes, those that had been so distinctive the first time we met, with his sunglasses on. They looked like Neo's from the Matrix[1], very narrow and stern. Too imposing for a face that had been so inviting last time. If it was him… That was probably the point of the glasses, to obscure his features, since Bee had said she didn't know his identity outside of the group.

"It's such a nice day out, can we walk and talk?" Megan asked brightly. Her voice tasted sweet, but felt coagulated, like honey that's been left out for too long. Bee glanced at me, assessed my general unresponsive state and answered for the both of us.

"Works for me. 'S good to _loosen up_." She gave me a meaningful look, which I didn't meet.

"A little more out of public eye," said Nightwing approved, serious about his responsibilities. Whoever he was, serious suited him even if the glasses didn't.

As a group, we strolled into the wooded paths. They weren't particularly wide and as a consequence I ended up walking a half step behind the other three. In a couple of minutes I couldn't hear any of the social sounds of the park. From my oblique angle I could see the muscles around Nighwing's shades shift, alert, confirming the fact that we were alone. Megan was sort of humming to herself. _Com'on, focus. Is it him?_

"So…" Nightwing began turning somewhat to address me directly. "What have you heard about us?"

"Not much."

"Karen didn't tell you anything?"

"A bit."

"What _do_ you know?" He asked distantly, somewhat amused by my introversion more than anything. It didn't seem like he knew many introverts.

"Your names. That you guys help people…" I hesitated and then went for it, "That you don't bite." I laughed nervously. Bee snorted and Megan giggled at my sorry attempt at humor, and I relaxed a bit, relieved by their reception. My resonance began to blip.

"Well, no one except Gar." Megan laughed.

"Who?" I asked, confused and off balance once more. Had I made unintended reference? My resonance went dead again.

"Not important," she reassured.

There was an awkward pause.

"Ummm…why haven't I heard of you guys before this, in… in the media? From the little Karen's told me, you live… exciting lives…" _Just work on the most rational assumption that you are crazy and this is a different—_ _good looking_ _—shut up, guy. Be professional and detached, you'll speak better that way._

"You could put it that way. We like to keep off the radar," he answered with a tint of pride.

"Oh." And…I was out of questions again. _Damn_.

"I thought you'd do a better job explaining than I could," Karen prompted.

"Well…I guess we help save the world. It's what we do." He shrugged immodestly.

"I thought the Justice… Alliance? did that?"

"League," he corrected before countering, "Not the police or government?"

I looked away both ashamed of my faux pau and unwilling to admit my reasons for not trusting those bodies with those duties.

"Anyways, sometimes the Justice League is occupied. We started out working with them, but we found we were more effective working semi-independently. We tend to get the less flashy jobs. Body guardings, kidnappings, connected crimes, unexplained occurrences, that sort of thing. Less press, same importance, and the low profile gives us more freedom. Less directed attention from the bad guys to, whole Nemasis complex and such. So it's generally a safer environment for training up potential future Leaguers." He answered, taking pity at my discomfort.

"Tell her why she should join," Bee pressed.

"Training, experience, advice." He listed off, kicking a stone. Now that he was secure in the fact that we were no eavesdroppers he had noticeably relaxed. "Camaraderie," he said the last with a… a subtext I didn't recognize. But both the other girls looked a little offended, and a tad embarrassed. I glanced at Karen, and she saw I didn't understand. She punched Nightwing in the arm when she thought I'd looked away.

Nightwing took the cue and continued. "Karen mentioned you were worried about people using you for your new abilities." He said it gently, not wanting me to think Karen had been talking behind my back. Solemnly he continued, "We'd help you learn how to protect yourself from people like that. Even if you end up not join long term, you'd learn a lot."

Karen took over the pitch. "We're a Team. We want to keep the world, safe. We try an' make it better. Like you always go on about, cryptically." _I don't know how to be any clearer, you just never understand me._ "You could do something big about it, if you wanted." _It's not my place, Karen. I can't._ "And there's nothing like having people you know you can count on in any circumstance." _Wouldn't that be lovely?_

"Yeah," Megan chipped in. " _This_ is my family. I've got 29 siblings, but around them I always felt… out of place. This is where I belong."

I took a deep breath. That sounded… perfect. Exactly what I always wanted.

But I didn't deserve it. I never had, and especially now, after…everything. _Think it you_ coward _._ I couldn't… And there were obstacles that would be more imminently obvious…

"There… would be a lot of physical activity…?"

"Well, Mal mostly does coordination from base, but the rest of us _do_ go out on missions." Karen answered, suspicious of the direction I was headed.

"It's just… I can light stuff on fire but…" I started gesturing at what was normally my somewhat plump form, forgetting that I always looked fitter when I was charged like this. I _was_ strong, but my stamina… crap… my coordination…nearly worse… But they wouldn't understand that by looking at me as I was. "I just don't have very good wind…"

"We'll train you. Everyone starts off somewhere." Nightwing assured.

"Says they guy who was born doing acrobatics," added Karen under her breath. _That's interesting…_

"You light stuff on fire?" Megan asked curiously, with just a pinch of anxiety.

I looked at Bee and questioned wordlessly, _You didn't tell them_? She tilted her head in a shrug that said: _A bit, but who knows exactly what you can do yet._

"Looks like there's a clearing up ahead. Maybe a demonstration?" Nightwing suggested. "A preview of coming attractions?"

I rubbed my hand, nervous, and to stimulate the secretion of the propolis-type substance I could make when charged, the stuff that actually burned rather than my skin. It made sense to do a demo… But I shouldn't join. They were too good for me. But maybe if I helped them, maybe that was how I could right my wrongs. _Get real_. I just wouldn't—couldn't— let myself get close…. There was no place for someone like me. I shouldn't stay around. I'd let myself start hoping again...

 _Riding for a fall, my dear…_ _So long as my fall is ultimately useful, fall's nothing less than I deserve._ I nodded to myself.

I still was uncomfortable with their attention, as I quite literally entered the spot light of the clearing, eyes downcast. Trying to ignore them, I stretched out my arms wide and faced the sun. I soaked in more of its light, pushing down my core further out of the way in preparation for whatever they wanted to see.

Taking a preparatory breath I turned to face them. "What do you want me to—" a card was flying at my face.

I stepped back startled and held up my hand, channeling heat out of it reflexively, and the stuff on my hands bloomed outwards in a plume of flame. The card incinerated before it reached me.

"Impressive reaction time. Could be better, but hey," Nightwing said. He held up his hand, there was another card in each of the four slots between fingers. "How's your accuracy?" The cards flew into the air.

I succeeded in snapping off sparks at two of the cards and igniting them before my third attempt also started to smolder on a tree. I had to go put that out before it really caught rather than lighting the remaining cards, which fluttered to the ground.

"Sorry," I mumbled. Nightwing was impassive behind his shades.

"Hey, it's okay. It's your first time doing anything like this right? You'll get better." Megan soothed. The words resonated true and understanding; the general use of my abilities was clearing the resonance image at last. The impression she gave reminded me of someone I had met, but I couldn't think of who. It wasn't a close match or anything, like cousins or something.

"Bee, you want a turn?" Nightwing asked, not deigning to comment on my poor performance.

"Sure!" She shot me a smug response to my confused look. _What do you do?_ She unzipped the sweatshirt she was wearing and pulled up a black skintight hood that had yellow goggles with odd spikes attached. The hood was part of a skintight yellow and black suit. As I looked on, the yellow stripes on the suit glowed and she _shrunk_. The hoodie and her jeans fell as the tiny Karen flew using a set of four yellow, translucent wings. My eyes flew wide in astonishment and I had to actively think about keeping my mouth shut. Nightwing hurled nine cards in the air this time, and she flew nimbly around the clearing, hitting each with a bright zap from her palms. The cards danced and quivered down. As I looked, at each, I could see burns spelling out B-U-M-B-L-E-B-E-E. She flew in front of my face and grinned, then propelled herself backwards and grew back to normal size.

"Not bad, eh?"

I blinked. Twice. I opened my mouth but no words came out.

"She didn't tell you?" Megan asked. "But I heard you call her Bee earlier…"

"Nova picked that up on her own; she's pretty intuitive. Makes it all the more fun when I succeed in surprising her." That shook me out of my shock.

"The white dwarf star?" I asked.

"Told you," Bee shot towards Megan.

For once I didn't feel like a freak. Emboldened, I asked "What about you two?"

"Me? No superpowers. You've heard of Batman?" I nodded. "I was his first protégé." _Batman…Batman… Gotham…_

My resonance chose that moment to kick in. It _was_ him. There was no mistaking the combination of confidence, capability, intuition, intelligence, reservation, and underlying levity, now that I could feel it. It was just that now a seriousness shadowed him, and was dominant; the contrast to my experience at the café was so great that I had been able to rationalize myself away from the truth. _Classic smart person syndrome, always go with the first answer._ I began to blush at the memory of the meeting. Maybe… I didn't dare think it, but I wanted to… maybe this was… that…something...

My resonance yanked me away from these half-hoped-for-half-unformed thoughts.

Megan was familiar too. Too… Too familiar…

"As for me," her skin shifted—"My Team name's Miss Martian,"—to green. She floated herself up a few inches off the ground.

 _SHIT. Shitshitshitshitshitshitshitshitshit SHIIIIIIIIIIITTTT._ I jerked into a defensive stance, thinking fast, all thoughts of joining completely abandoned. As soon as she recognized me I was dead. I deserved it, but— _Shit_ —I didn't want to die like she could kill me, mind torn to pieces… I'd just gotten it back _._

But she hadn't recognized me yet…

"Don't be afraid, it's just me…" She switched back to Caucasian and landed, drawing back, a bit hurt. She didn't know me. She thought I was just startled by her reveal. It made sense. I didn't look like I had then, I certainly didn't sound like it…

I froze all reactions, all thoughts of the implications of this new realization. The important thing was to get out of the situation. And to do that I had to keep pretending like I knew nothing.

"Sorry… Just… Wasn't expecting that…" _Smooth, Fia, smooth._

"It's okay." She replied, hiding her hurt in her voice if not from me. This was a completely different M'gann than the one that had wanted to eviscerate my mind; she had been rejected once for what she was, though now she more comfortable with herself I felt, but still, I could relate. No wonder I'd picked up on her fury so quickly and completely back… _God how badly did I screw up_ , I mentally moaned.

Nightwing continued gravely, tactfully not lingering on Megan's distress, "There's one more thing you need to know before you decide. What we do, it's not what you'd call safe. People die. Have died. Recently. The bad guys are ruthless, and sometimes sacrifice is necessary to protect innocent people. That's what's important the end of the day. We protect each other best we can, but there's no guarantee of your safety. Only the skills to increase your chance of survival." He said this so heavily, as if he knew it were true but it taxed him greatly.

"Tula…" whispered Megan, and I felt her heartbreak as if it were my own. The same radiated from the other two. And, I realized, it was all my fault.

"No one lives forever. We make the most of the time we have." Nightwing added like a eulogy.

"We don't mean to scare you off. There are risks, but the rewards make it more than worth it. Nova, you'd have a place with us." That was Karen, hitting my rawest nerve.

 _Stall_. I mentally commanded. "I… I need to think about it…'S a big decision."

"Of course," Nightwing smiled at me, approval of my thoughtfulness glinting out from behind his sunglasses, yet still tinted with the recent sorrow. That smile was same casual smile from the café that effortlessly melted my resolve. It made me want to agree on the spot to whatever option let me be around him, which would not only have been ironic but was impossible. This unaccountable feeling towards him was inseparably shadowed by my guilt; I could never embrace my attraction, forever repelled by my remorse. My fascination with this virtual stranger was also distressing in its own right. I barely knew him: how could I be so absolutely sure that being around him would bring happiness? Now I couldn't even trust myself—The ultimate isolation is being abandoned by your own judgment.

He continued, unaware of my desolation, "Talk it over with Bee, let us know." At least that seemed to be the last of it. "Nice meeting you."

"I hope I'll see you again soon." Megan added more uncertain than earlier.

I carefully didn't think about the whole thing until I was back in my room with the door locked, holding myself in a fragile balance until I was safe. I'd been too quite on the trip back, even for me, and Karen had noticed. But I said something that assured her I was just pensive and she bought it. I stared at the stars on my ceiling, letting thoughts bounce off each other. No part of me felt resolute enough to form a convincing argument. The only cohesion came from the slow melody (footnote 2) winding around my head, tinting everything a hollow blue.

 _Just walk away from the whole thing._

 _You always have._

 _They only times you haven't let go ended in disaster._

 _I can only bring more pain._

 _Haven't you hurt them enough?_

 _Haven't you hurt yourself enough?_

 _No…_

 _True…_

Silence

 _She would destroy me if she knew._

 _She'd have every right to._

 _So why don't I just get it over with?_

There was no answer for a long time.

 _That's not enough. I've still got something left to do._

 _What?_

 _…_

 _I have to help them._

 _I don't deserve them, don't deserve their trust, their friendship_

 _No, you don't. But when they find out, any bond_ you _form to them will be snap back and lash you like a whip. Like the one of theirs you broke. An even trade._

 _It will hurt them, to know they mislaid their trust._

 _Only if they accept you, care about you. Why should you assume that? Should patterns hold you will remain apart and your loss will be insignificant to them. But you will grow attached to them, it is the way that we are. Their eventual, rejection will then carry the weight it must._

 _And if… if someone actually comes to care about me?_

I thought back on Megan's reaction to what she perceived as Conner's death, how quickly she accepted it. And how all three of them, though devastated by the loss of Tula, had moved forward.

 _Even in that unlikely scenario, they will recover, that is the life they live. You will not. You will die knowing what their friendship would have meant and that could have been yours if not for your actions. And in either case, you will leave behind any protection you can offer them, before they know the truth._

I could never earn forgiveness, this was the best I could offer.

…

 _What about him?_

What _about him?_

 _He cares about the Team._

Gently: _Honey, he could never care for you; he's devoted to his cause; any personal relationships are secondary. Even if he could, he's too good for you. You can't be open and honest, you can't get close to him and then tear yourself away when the time comes, that wouldn't be fair to him. The kindest thing to do for both of you would be to let this go._

 _I know._

I didn't know if I could, nor if I would should I be able to. It was another fantasy to have ripped away from me when the time came.

Joining was the right thing to do, but it would hurt; it wasn't going to be pleasant. It could be, if circumstances were different, but that was the point. I knew the charade wouldn't last forever, that eventually I'd be found out. But this way I'd be able to help them before they meted out whatever justice they felt I deserved.

The only thing left to be seen was how entangled I got myself, how hard it would be for me to let go.

My news was greeted with joyous applause from Karen, which was baffling given my current mindset. I had to actively pull a 180 to understand her interpretation of my decision.

"Welcome to The Team, _Nova_! I swear, you won't regret. There's this _big_ team picnic coming up, we can introduce you to everyone, it'll be great!"

"Picnic?" I asked tensely.

She saw her mistake and hastily toned down her endorsement down. "Yeah, it'll be really chill. It's at the house of some retired members, you'll like them. 's in Palo Alto, Ca." She was still really excited about the whole thing though, and couldn't quite contain it. "Real sun at last! Not this on and off Northeast bull."

"California? How are we supposed to get there?" Flying was out of the question, I generally disliked heights there was too much tech for it to be safe.

She smiled impishly. "Oh, don't worry about that, we'll zeta beam."

"Zeta-beam?"

"You're gonna love it. It's like the transporter in that Star Trek show keep trying to get me to start watching with you."

"You mean it will scan my structure, break me down, and rebuild me somewhere else."

"As I understand it, yes." She said lightly.

"NO!" I said as skittish as a horse in a thunderstorm.

My for once strong reaction took her aback. "Sheesh, what's your problem!"

I took a breath and unpacked, "Karen, I can barely get something as simple as a toaster to work right on a good day—now," I added belatedly, remembering this was supposed to be a recent development. "Interacting that closely, on a molecule-signal basis with a machine? In a way that controls my very existence. That's asking to be permanently disintegrated."

"Hmmmm… I see your point. I'll see if Megan and the Bioship will be willing to give us a ride."

"Bioship?" I began to think that there was a lot more to being part of this team than I'd thought.

"That I'm keeping a surprise. I promise, it will be safe."

I wanted to protest, but I could see she wasn't going to budge. "Would you tell me a little more about who to expect? The more people, the worse I am…"

"I'll see what I can do," she chuckled.

* * *

[1] I swear, last Matrix reference. I haven't even seen it, it just crops up on its own a lot.

watch?v=uIFFa3Aq6wA


	9. 9: Everyone

Chapter 9

Karen came through for me, after some well-meant ribbing and pretending she wasn't going to do it. She got me the pictures and told me a little bit about everyone that was going to be there. I surreptitiously studied the names like a foreign language. At the very least I wouldn't have to worry about forgetting who everyone was.

My preparation only mitigated, not eliminated, my anxiety. I was the new person. Everyone else knew each other, though Karen assured me some only loosely. The Birds of Prey, as they were quietly referred to—those under Batman's tutelage—apparently knew each other from civilian life, but had gone through a different school system than Megan, Superboy, Mal and her. Wonder Girl, Beast Boy, and Lagoon Boy had only joined a few months ago, and Karen at least had not been on any missions with them. She mentioned a few of the Justice Leaguers were supposed show up as well, people who had been on or been close to The Team when it was founded. Karen was quick to assured me she knew most of them only by reputation.

I had to hope the three I had already met under different circumstances, Robin, Beast Boy (the tiger), and Superboy (who I only knew as Conner, not having probed into the details of life when I overshadowed him), wouldn't recognize me. Beast Boy was the largest threat with the ability to use the sensory systems of the animals into which he transformed; I knew I looked and sounded different, but I had no idea if my smell was different night and day. He'd been a tiger, and I didn't think they had exceptional (for a predator anyways) smell, and the percept would of my odor would likely be different from the noses of different species. Or so I hoped. If not, being mauled by a lion, tiger, or bear sounded better than giving Megan a crack at me.

Speaking of which, when the time came Megan was happy to give us a ride, once Karen had explained the reason behind the request. She practically glowed as I marveled over her Bioship. I don't know what I'd been expecting, but the Martian technology was organic and read as animal rather than vehicle. Though shaped like a large red Manta ray, she had the soul of a big dog: loyal, willing go anywhere, and feistily protective. Though she shot lasers rather than bit. She only gave off very simple emotions, but the important thing was that my presence would not cause her to malfunction.

I was actually excited at the thought of flying in such an amazing creature, how could it not be an incredible experience? But I underestimated the disorientation that came with the acceleration of takeoff, of being out of control. I trusted Megan and the Bioship, but I wasn't comfortable that far off the ground. Plus the fact that I was charged so I'd look how they expected added to my nausea and lack of temperature regulation. The turbulence we hit going through the Rockies had me sweating and non-responsive. All my attention went to pretending I was still and on earth, and convincing my stomach of this fantasy. My stomach was no easier to convince of a clear lie than I was. Karen and Mal took turns checking on me, but correctly determined that I was doing my darnedest to pretend I didn't exist, and assumed they should do the same.

Eventually the three hours of terror came to an end. We descended into a dusty scrubland fairly smoothly, if a bit abruptly for my taste. I'd managed not to vomit on the trip, but the drop left the literal taste of reflux. Later when I felt more myself I wondered why no one noticed the odd ship landing on the outskirts of town, and was told we came in in camouflage.

Megan rushed out as soon as we landed, phasing out of through the walls, but I stopped on the ramp, hanging close to the hinges, sizing up the landscape. A modest, irrigated playing field separated the scrublands from the row of small wooden houses that marked the edge of a quiet neighborhood. One house had tables set up on the lawn and people just arriving by car and motorcycle. I recognized most of them from the photographs.

The redhead guy and the blond woman on the porch, waving to their guests, had to be Wally West and Artemis Crock; the former Kid Flash and his girlfriend the archer. They _looked_ like nice people, pretty much the same as in the photo, not noticeably older. The main difference was the lack of costume. He wore loose jeans and an unbuttoned plaid over shirt over a white tee, she black leggings and an army green tank top under an open, brown, mini cardigan. Wally was not as muscular as Mal, but was undeniably solid, and his bright red spiky hair and moss green eyes were easily visible even with the distance. Artemis was a couple inches shorter, slender and lithe. Her moderately long blond hair was down today, not in the ponytail she wore in the photo. Their smiling faces looked friendly, open, happy to see everyone again. They glanced at each other in a mutual joy of the reunion and…

I bent over, fists clutching to the bottom of my ribcage, the intensity of their love overwhelming me. Drowning me. Everywhere. It was like a geyser had opened where my heart used to be and was sweeping everything else I knew away. Just that one shared look.

And I had thought the flight had been unsettling.

 _Hang together, you should be happy for them_. _I am._ I replied weakly _But… It's too much._ _I know, just try to tune it down_. I did, slowly sealing myself off. I really was happy for them, these strangers, but it was more than I could bear. My eyebrows furrowed and jaw clenched at the sheer power of the emotion I was keeping back.

"That obvious?" Karen had come up behind me. She guessed what I was reacting to, I still hadn't shared my resonance abilities with her. I couldn't figure out a way to explain it from a light perspective. Emotions were born from a private place of shadows, even if they didn't always stay there. And thus wholly accessible to me.

I nodded not wanting to explain and not sure I could answer without my voice breaking.

"Even from this far away you can see their connection?"

I repeated the nod.

She sighed, "Damn. And I thought Mal and I were catching up to them." It wasn't even close; as good as she and Mal were, these two were… I didn't have a word for it. The best I had was soulmates, and that was pitiful. Karen looked back up into the ship in the general direction she knew her boyfriend to be, not particularly distressed by this knowledge. A lesser second wave of passion pushed through my already broken levees. I groaned.

"Sorry, sorry. I know how much you hate the whole 'cute couple' thing. You think it'd help if we found you someone?" I didn't bother with a response about the impossibility, I just sombered and continued to work on sealing myself off.

The intensity of foreign emotion lessened as Karen looked instead at the gathering. Then again. I looked up; Artemis and Wally were greeting the others who had gotten to the house before us. Distracted from one another. Temporarily. I sighed and straightened.

"Those two really aren't that bad. Actually, I think you'll like them, they're both fairly scienc-y."

I didn't think they were bad, I just thought they were in love. Karen didn't get my explanation of hating people but liking a person. "It was just…new," I settled on lamely, unable to actually explain.

"Mhm. C'mon, you'll feel better once you know them. At least half of all this," she gestured at my still tense form, "is your social anxiety thing," she said, dismissing a large part of my being as trivial. I nodded my acknowledgement of her point and let her lead me off the ship. _Everyone_ here knew each other. Everyone had a place, except me, despite what Karen had said. Artemis was off hugging…Zatanna, that was it, so Bee made a line for Wally who was gulping down a hot dog. He finished just as we got there.

"Hello, who are you, lovely lady?" He asked, curious. His voice was sweet, and a little tangy, refreshingly light but with substance behind it. It reminded me of orange juice. The person behind it felt generally friendly and inquisitive, with a liberal amount of zest; he seemed the sort to be easy to annoy or frustrate, but hard to really anger.

"Nova," I murmured demurely, as I took all this in.

"Not to be rude, but you are?" He questioned further, not unkindly. I mean, he must have known I was coming, but was more interested in playing the introduction up. His social energy was intimidating.

"New." I literally couldn't think of anything else to say.

"Has my way with women fallen so far by the wayside?" Wally quirked an eyebrow, addressing Karen. She signed, exasperated.

"First of all by all accounts you never had a way with women; it's a miracle Artemis saw through all yo' chauvinism. Second, any eyes you had for other women you lost the moment you two got together, probably before from what I hear. And don't even pretend it's not true because even she," she jerked her thumb in my direction, "knows it."

He looked a little chagrinned at that, but unapologetic. Karen signed. "And for her sake, Wally, this is Nova, she joined the team a few days ago and is doesn't know anyone yet. She's got a pretty intense social fear thing. Don't give me that look, Nov', you make it so obvious, may as well have it in the open." To Wally, "Get her talking about science, worked for me."

I gave her a wide eyed, panicked look; it sounded like she was going to leave me to fend for myself.

"Yes, I am; it'll be good for you, he's nice when he's actually using his brain. I'm gonna say hi to Raquell," _Rocket_ I remembered her superhero handle. The whole double name thing made meeting people that much harder. "She's got new baby pictures!" Karen squealed in excitement. Babies were one of the few things that thrilled her as much as science. She gave me a reassuring wave and left me. I looked at Wally, unsure.

"So, what type of science you into?" He asked, slightly uncomfortable as he picked that vibe off of me.

"Biology mostly,"

"Oooh, two words," he teased. I shrugged, loosening my tense back a bit, forcefully.

"I'm really into Neuro."

"Cool! What made gottcha into that field?"

"Huh?"

"It's just kinda specific." He shrugged.

"Oh…" I considered carefully before I gave him an answer. "Well, I guess it's just that everything we are, everything we do, comes down to the nervous system."

He made some encouraging noises so I continued after a pause. "At first I was just hoping to help understand mental illnesses, because the mind's really important and so vulnerable—but I still wasn't set on Neuro over, say, math or chemistry. But if the nervous systems' not working, what does it matter how elements form compounds, or what an integral is? Understanding anything in the universe, including ourselves depends on this one system, so that is where we should start investigating first and foremost. If we understand how we understand, we should be able to understand anything." Truly science was the one thing that could get me talking.

"I never thought of it that way. Pretty meta. But don't you need to know about molecular movements and quantal probabilities in order to fully explain how the brain works?" I smiled cautiously, though not with teeth. It was nice to meet someone who spoke my language.

"Yes, but I figure you learn the pieces of all the other disciplines you need as you need them, rather than learn interesting but possibly irrelevant concepts first…" I realized how that might sound and awkwardly added, "But I'm not saying other people are wasting their time, in the other sciences. Or even liberal arts—It's just a function of how they are wired most likely, a function I wish to discover."

He laughed. "You don't think small do you?"

His comment made me self-conscious. "What about you? What field are you studying?"

"At first I was really into the hard core bio but now I'm more BCBP."

Curious. "How did that happen? It's about the only field more focused than Neuro."

"Hmmm… you know, probably started when I got my super speed."

"Oh." I was sorry we were getting off science, but he clearly wanted to share, so I lilted my voice towards interested. That's all it took to get him going.

"I was a _huge_ fan of the Flash when I was a kid. Like, tried to be at every press conference, did lots of research, hung out around crime scenes... Imagine how stunned I was when I found out he was my uncle!"

"I bet."

"I _begged_ him to let me help, be his sidekick. He said no of course, my mom would have _killed_ him if he'd said otherwise, but I found his notes."

I looked at him, confused.

"On the experiment that gave him his super speed. I didn't understand them at first, so I had to teach myself the chemistry," _Ah the connection becomes clear_. "I wasn't… what'd you'd call patient though..." he admitted awkwardly, "I _might_ have tried it out before I understood it all… I actually blew off the roof of the garage. And my eyebrows off my face." He wiggled them in mock relief that they'd regrown, making me laugh gently through my nose. "And anyways an explosion was probably the only thing big enough to knock better sense into my thick head." He finished in mock self-derision.

I laughed aloud for his benefit, since it was generous of him to put his flaws out in the open. "So, other than the explosion, were there any other differences between your results and those of The Flash?" I asked in the interest of science.

His nose wrinkled at the sore subject, but only slightly. It seemed to be an old habit that was on its death bed. "I'm not as fast, but you know, mock speed ain't shabby."

"Oh, sorry, I was just curious about the variation in the procedure…"

"S' cool. I get it." He said not offended in the least.

"Did you ever figure out exactly what went wrong?"

"Nah, Uncle Barry took back the notes in exchange for letting me be his sidekick. Since that's what I wanted, I didn't think much about it at the time. I've thought looking back to now that I've got a better understanding of the principles, but now that I'm retired it's not really important."

Something didn't quite make sense. "If you wanted to be his sidekick so bad, to be a hero, why'd you retire?"

"That would be because of me." Artemis had made her way over and spoke with the modesty of a cat. She draped an arm over one of Wally's shoulders and leaned her head on the other. He turned his head and kissed her hair. The contact sent a tidal wave of affection over me, but I managed, barely, to hide it, having seen it coming. I focused instead on the new individual. Her voice was tough with a little strain to it, but still feminine, proud and spunky. Like chipotle, kinda smoky and hot. An excellent complement to orange, I had to note. "I'm Artemis, nice to meet you, Nova."

"Hey, Beautiful," Wally address his sweetheart with a tenderness so deep it'd crack any submarine. He turned to me and in normal tones elaborated, "Yeah, being with Artemis and not having to risk her death everyday. It was more important to me than being a hero."

"I can take care of myself!" She said hotly.

"I know; I just don't want you to have to." Pure affection enfolded his words as they drifted towards her.

I couldn't help myself, "Was it, you know, like this from the beginning? Love at first sight?"

The both looked shocked at my question and I worried I'd crossed the line. Then they looked at each other and burst out laughing. They broke apart, Artemis having to use her hands to support herself from the force of her guffaws. Wally literally fell over, but was back on his feet quicker than I could follow. He got his breath back first.

"Lord no, I hated her!"

"He was so rude and obnoxious!" she said concurrently.

They glared at each other.

"You accused me of stealing Roy's spot on the team!" She shot.

"Yeah, well you laughed at me!" He accused.

"You showed up to The Cave in beach gear and tripped over your umbrella! It was funny!" She retorted.

The false anger in their eyes yielded to true fondness and Artemis leaned into Wally's chest, his arm circling her waist.

"So how did this happen?" I asked, desperate to have anything to distract me from their feelings.

"Ah, who knows?" Artemis said offhandedly. "He was brave and smart, and there for me."

"And she was cute and independent. She never let me get away with anything."

"Someone needed to keep your big ego in check!"

"I don't deny it." He mumbled into the top of her head. "Thanks,"

It would have been overwhelming, but something else from far away was capturing my attention. I couldn't quite hear it, but it was driving me crazy, being just at the edge of my awareness. I didn't want to, but the only way to figure out what it was was to open my mouth.

"Kent Nelson says, 'I told you so, Sonny'." _What the heck did that mean?_ "Does that mean anything to you?"

"Oh man, wow. How'd you know about that?" Wally rubbed the back of his head with his free hand.

"I don't know. This sort of weird thing 's new." I said embarrassed and irritated. "Mind filling me in?"

"Oh, sorry. Yeah, Kent was the old Dr. Fate; we went to rescue him as one of our first missions together. He told me I needed to find a spitfire."

"The man had some sense, unlike you. Wally spent the next _three_ months drooling over Megan, and then it took you _another_ two and a half to get the idea into your head to kiss me. For a speedster, you really can be slow sometimes." She teased kindly.

"Hey, I knew you were the girl for me since that training session." I didn't know what he was talking about but they shared a shiver of discomfort. "I just didn't want to admit it to myself." He added sheepish again.

"Dolt," she punched him with kid gloves and he faked a wince.

"So what exactly can you do, Nova?" Artemis asked, her attention back on me for the moment.

I made a noncommittal noise.

"It's okay if you don't want to share, we aren't on The Team any more, we don't really _need_ to know." She would have accepted silence, but she laced it with so much curiosity it would have been cruel not to say.

"It's not that. I… can't quite figure out how to explain it myself. And I can't tell whether you want a more mystical interpretation or the more scientific one, since I'm not sure."

"Mystical," said Artemis.

"Scientific," said Wally simultaneously.

"Still a denier after Kent and Zatanna and literally being Dr. Fate?" She shoved him away but allowed herself to be drawn back.

"What can I say, Babe, you know me." To me he said, "Whatever you think best, I don't have a problem with magic or anything, it's just fuzzy science."

"That's a good way to put it." I stored the description away for those nights I stayed up trying to figure out words for what I was.

"See, somebody agrees with me!" He insisted to his lady. Artemis just rolled her eyes for my benefit and waited for my explanation.

I stuttered, unsure of the best way to explain. "Since the nova, I charge up with solar energy and I can light fires and disrupt electromagnetic devices." That was the easy part, but they'd want an explanation the knowledge I shouldn't have had. "I've found recently I'm knowing things I shouldn't, like just then. But that's not particularly reliable…"

"Wait, when you're charged up. So, like, when you've used up the energy you've stored, you're powerless?" Artemis asked.

"For the most part. I'm a bit unclear on how it all works," I lied uneasily.

"Being new to your powers is tough," Wally said sympathetically. "When I got out of the hospital first thing I tried to do was run/vibrate through a wall, like my uncle. All I got was a bloody nose. But you learn your limits."

I smiled shyly, lure out as intended. "Thanks."

Artemis took over the job of making me feel at ease, "Well, you're in good hands. Just look at Cassie—" _Wonder Girl—_ "over there by the snacks. She's still green, but she's learning fast." She paused, "That reminds me. Wally, I actually came over because _someone_ ," she frowned at him, "ate all the chips."

"I left some, I swear." He held up his hands defensively.

"Well, would you run to the store and get some more?" She said with a dazing smile and laughing eyes.

"I love how you mean that literally." He answered huskily, "Back—"

"Don't say it," she warned.

"—Soon," he whispered, kissed her gently, and was gone leaving only a breeze behind him.

"What was he going to say?" I asked curiously, to distract myself from the happy buzz radiating off of Artemis.

"Oh, 'Back in a flash'. It's his uncle's thing, he says it just to annoy me. It bothers him too when his uncle says it." She gave me a thorough look over. "You gonna be okay? Bee gave me a head's up."

Karen: I couldn't decide whether to be grateful or annoyed. "I'll be fine, I'm settled now. Thanks." It was only a grey lie.

"You need _anything_ , even just to talk, let me know, any time. It wasn't just Wally who didn't welcome me when I first joined The Team; it… can be rough. Just be honest and open; I didn't really have that option." Sounded like we had something in common. "Seriously, any of these guys start giving you trouble, let me know and I'll knock some sense into them." Her sincerity was pure and solid, a smoldering fire prepared to leap up at need. It was strange. Though I'd known her for only a short time I already thought she'd understand me better than Karen if I reached out to her. It was clear that in her mind, I was going to be friend, and who was I to argue with that? "Thanks, and congratulations on becoming an aunt. She's going to be beautiful."

"How'd you… wait, never mind." She smiled, less bothered than I by my unintended intuition. Her phone buzzed. "Labor waits for nothing but the baby", she mouthed, as she shot me a 'sorry' glance and answered the call, walking towards the quiet of the house. "Mom?"

I watched her go, happy for her, but feeling as if my anchor had been cut and I was now adrift. I ended up sitting down at one of the tables and watched everyone else catch up, enjoy the picnic.

Nightwing and Robin were playing badminton, both wearing dark sunglasses and nondescript clothing, against Rocket and Zatanna. Batgirl and Karen were talking over lemonade at another table. Superboy and Wonder Girl were tossing a ball over the head of an enormous white wolf, named Wolf, I'd been told. Mal was playing ping pong against Captain Marvel. Megan was throwing a Frisbee to a green dog that had to be Beast Boy.

There was a non-descript looking boy sulking and looking awkward at another table, poking at a plate of fried fish. He seemed the most likely target for a conversation, being the only one not already engaged. I didn't recognize him from any of the photos, which was too curious for me to not investigate. I forced myself to wander over in his direction.

"Hey," I started.

The boy glared up at me.

"Oh, it's you. New girl." He said in gruff, disgruntled tones. He looked back down at his food, body language defensive. I wanted to follow the cues and leave, but I still didn't know who he was.

"Yeah, Nova." I waited for him to give his name. It didn't come. "And you?"

"Lagoon Boy." He answered harshly.

"Oh." He didn't look a thing like in the picture. He was supposedly an Atlantean, and an abnormal one at that. In the picture he'd looked like the creature from the black lagoon, probably where he'd gotten the name. I tried not to let my confusion show.

"I know, not what you were expecting." He glowered. He wrenched off a bracelet and the green fishy face and large red eyes I was expecting shimmered into existence. "They're making me wear this Neptune forsaken glamour charm so that I don't 'attract attention'," he ended bitterly before reluctantly replacing the bracelet.

"I'm sorry." It was the wrong thing to say and I realized it instantly. I didn't pity him; I understood his distress at having to hide himself. But he wouldn't understand that, and wasn't the type to hear the statement for what it meant.

"Don't be, Chum." It wasn't the British chum, it was the shark bait. Any further apologies or explanations would just make things worse, so I let him be. _That couldn't have gone worse…_

Mal, Cassie (Wonder Girl), Karen, and Megan, with Beast Boy (parrot shaped now) on her shoulder, were all laughing together near the punch bowl now; maybe that would work better.

"—pretty much destroyed him before he could reactivate the volcano; so it was literally no _sweat_!" Everyone laughed, "And we got the rest of the week to see the sights!" That was Cassie, apparently she and whoever was with her had finished up a mission ahead of schedule and gotten some vacation time.

"Where was this?" I asked interested.

"What was your favorite?" Asked Megan a beat behind.

"Oh definitely the Temple of Jupiter! It was really cool getting to see what the Roman's thought of my dad, how they worshiped him differently from us." Seemingly I'd have to answer my own question. _Temple of Jupiter, volcano… maybe Pompeii_. _Wait, Zeus is her dad?_

"You're a demigod? I didn't know that they really existed." I prompted.

Mal went off on a history lesson instead, "Yes, there were some very interesting differences between the two cultures. The Romans viewed Jupiter as not only the head god of the pantheon, but also the god of light, victory, and to some extent justice. In general, the Romans _called_ on Jupiter's name when they wished to see justice done to criminal, whereas the Greeks tended to only mention his name in reference to his will and did not often plead with him to change the course of life."

"That's what the tour guide said!" Replied Cassie cheerily. Everything she said seemed to bubble out of her or bounce. Though apparently she had Greek origins, her luscious blond hear held back by a headband and fit physique put my current impression of a SoCal girl to shame.

"What, Zeus didn't come explain himself?" That was Megan, conversationally.

"Wouldn't that have been something! No, he was busy as usual. But Wonder Woman did explain a few details the tour guide didn't know!"

I still wanted to know more about the whole demigod thing, but it seemed like we'd moved past that.

"What else did you see?" Squawked Beast Boy the parrot.

"The Forum, the Baths, the Great Theater. Even the laundry! Did you know that they used urine as their main cleaning agent?"

"No!"

"Really?"

"Gross!"

"Yes, though I'm not sure why." That was Mal.

"It was because of the ammonia you can distill from it." I said. No one was listening.

"There togas must have been so yellow! Ugh."

"No, ammonia is a bleaching agen—" I started, but was cut off.

"Enough about the ancients, I want to hear about the present; I hear Italy has a hopping bar scene! Tell me you got away from your chaperone for at least one night." That was Karen, more communally.

"Yes, although I didn't need to, drinking age is only 15 there… but I might have overdone it all the same." She said embarrassed, but clearly she was eager to tell the story.

"Ooooh. You meet anyone cute?" Wonder Girl blushed.

The Mal look like he was about to lose interest, but stayed tuned to Wonder Girl's adventures for the sake of staying near Karen.

Defeated a second time, I went back to watching the badminton game, which was now one on one. Batgirl vs Raquel (Rocket). Batgirl had blue eyes and long wavy red-brown hair in a ponytail wore very practical, athletic clothes. Raquel was wearing leggings and a purple tshirt. Her ears were pierced at least five times per ear as revealed by her short hair. It was about the same length and color as Karen's but hers bangs were spiky to Karen's sweeping. She looked good for a new mom. I watched the birdy soar through the air, batted back and forth. They were ridiculously good. Well, maybe not Chinese Olympics good, but still. For the most part they had complete control of where they placed their shot. Volleys got up to 20 plus hits. I was content just to be mesmerized, tracing the birdy's path.

"Do you play?"

"Not well," I replied, before realizing who I was talking to.

"We'll see. Up for doubles next game?" Nightwing hollered to the girls.

"I'm out." panted Rocket in a thick inner city accent. "I need a drink." She swept her sleeve across her mahogany face to dry the sweat.

"I'm still good for another round, Zee you in?" Batgirl bounced on her toes and addressed Zatanna, who had been talking with Connor. Zatanna nodded and excused herself. She was dressed in skintight black yoga pants and a red tank top that revealed her midriff. They hugged her curvaceous figure and set off her blue eyes and black wavy hair. It seemed overly suggestive to my prudish sensibilities.

"And who is this?" She asked, referring to me but addressed directly to Nightwing. Her voice was as suggestive as her outfit. It wasn't even intentional, not really, it was just how she spoke. But that didn't make it any less grating despite the fact that the quality of her voice reminded me of down pillows and satin. Perhaps it was the fact that it also felt like stage lights, built to highlight and dazzle. The question made me feel like a chaperoned child, though I didn't blame her for not knowing me, being part of the League now and only a former Team member.

"Nova," answered Nightwing, his voice not quite sultry in response to her tone. He cocked an eyebrow to Zatanna. I read _'Jealous?'_. She bit back a derisive snort and contained herself to a squinted, _As if._ The whole exchange _was_ friendly, but the romantic undertones, at least from my point, extremely uncomfortable.

"We going to play or what?" Batgirl asked, taking a practice swing, unimpressed by the exchange.

Nightwing answered by flicking a birdy I hadn't known he had playfully into her face. She batted it back over the net without missing a beat and stuck her tongue out at him. He sighed, giving her yet another point in what I sensed was a much longer game between them.

We set ourselves and Batgirl served. Only about 20% of the shots came my way, and of those I only hit about 70%, not all of which made it over the net. Nightwing was all over my misses though, knowing exactly where he needed to be. He and Batgirl were both experts in tracking, predicting, and striking. I was following just fine, but I was too sluggish in my movements to reach the spot I needed to be in time. And even when I did, I didn't have the finesse the two Bat tutee's did, or even that of the vaguely more amateurish Zatanna, who nonetheless made me feel like I was playing on sand. I wasn't keeping score, but it seemed Nightwing's skill was almost making up for my handicap. Batgirl continuously called out encouragement and advice to me.

"Use your wrist, not the arm!"

"Stay on your toes!"

"Fluid motions!"

"Nice shot!" after a lucky hit that almost made it past Zatanna's guard. Zatanna stayed focus on the birdy and not my play the entire time, only shooting the occasional generalized smirk when she made her shot.

She mishit the next one though, and the birdy became a pop up fly. I ran backwards, following it. I cocked back my arm, ready to hit—and knocked it right into Nightwing's racket. My momentum cared the rest of me and I stumbled into his chest. The guy was solid but comfortably so, not rock hard. More like a gym mat. Despite my obstruction he spiked the birdy over the net and got the point; my opponents were laughing too hard to return.

"'Tracking's not bad, but it's a team sport. Call it, and be aware of where your partner is." His tone was light and didactic, not upset or uncomfortable. If I hadn't still been leaning against him I wouldn't have realized he was shaking with well-contained mirth. Had I been more on top of things, I could have said the same applied to him and he should have gotten out of the way. I'm sure he had all those skills he'd just been exhorting to me, but vaguely I realized he was talking more about the dynamic of The Team, not just the game. I was too consumed by my embarrassment to absorb the lesson or retort.

There was something else that was distracting me too. With a shock I realized this was the first human contact I'd had since I started college. I hadn't shaken hands, or had a pat on the shoulder. Nor had I reached out to anyone. I'd missed this…

Now wasn't the time though. I was _still_ supporting my weight against him; I drew away and hoped that the redness in my face from the physical exertion would cover my blush. Apparently, it didn't because he added more softly, understandingly, "Just take a breather; we'll try again."

I did. Next volley I called for it, though I felt like a fool. The one after that though I forgot. I was tired and hot and afraid of doing something else foolish.

"I told you this wasn't my sport." I groused, before mentally kicking myself for complaining aloud.

"What is?" Nightwing inquired, genuinely curious.

"Football," I huffed harshly, though the spite was directed inwards.

That took them all by surprise. The girls thought I was kidding, but Nightwing simply said, "I'll see what I can do," and wandered away with a wave towards a hail. Zatanna trailed after him, but Batgirl returned and offered me some water as I stared at the sky, trying to get the blood to stop pounding at my temples.

"Really, not bad for someone who doesn't play regularly," she complemented. Her voice was fairly deep and had a very deliberate quality to it; she didn't say anything she didn't mean to and meant every thing that she said. Though she was fairly expressive, there was no aspect of criticism, merely assessment, at least towards me in her voice. Still, there was just a blink of uncertainty at the end of some of sentence; she was just short of the absolute self-confidence her skills warranted. Like a 1000 piece puzzle with only the last ten pieces missing.

"Thanks." I added a smile, too tired to elaborate at that moment.

"We haven't been properly introduced, I'm Batgirl." She hesitated, but added confidently, "Barbra,"

"Nova." I felt like a jerk not returning show of trust. "I'm… I'm not really comfortable giving out my name yet. I don't want to mix up who knows my real name and who doesn't. At least not until I've at least met everyone."

"I understand, it's fine." She waved a hand. It really didn't bother her, I could feel, and she confirmed it, "Nightwing and Robin won't give out their names even after they've known a team mate for months. Just show's I'm the better judge of character, eh? It's wise to be cautious in the beginning."

I blinked flattered that I'd passed her valuation, "Thanks for the advice and… everything."

"My pleasure. You know Karen, right?"

She was fishing for information, but it wasn't out of disrespect for my wishes to keep a low profile. Like Nightwing she was a trained detective and wasn't happy unless she knew as much as possible. Robin would probably be the same, if I worked up the nerve to face him, after our previous encounters.

"Yeah, we go to school together."

"You do know that's enough information for me to look up exactly who you are?" She said in a congenial sort of way.

"I've been told, yes. But you won't.(?)" I managed to keep the question out of my voice if not my thought.

"True."

Knowing she trusted me made me comfortable enough to ask a question. "Karen tells me you know Nightwing from way back?"

"Mhmhm. Since grade school. Don't feel bad about losing the badminton match: I always beat him."

"'s focused more on the birdie than the score," I answered honestly. I was too exhausted to have my normal filters all in place, making me more outgoing than normal. Plus Barbra was the sort of person who made you want to talk to her more the longer you talked. Positive feedback loop.

"So I saw! But the point's still valid."

"'s probably good for him, to lose… not that I know him at all yet."

She laughed, "No, no, you're right! Very astute, but it's good for everyone to some degree."

I sipped at the water, knowing gulping would just make me sick.

"So… seeing as you've known him so long, maybe you can explain something for me?" I asked uncomfortably.

"Can't know until you ask."

I wasn't sure I wanted to know, but the ambiguity had been nagging at me since the first meeting. "When I had the interview, Nightwing gave me some reasons to join the team. He… said the word camaraderie a little… differently… "

"He didn't." She said rolling her eyes to herself, and sighed. "Sorry about that. You were with Megan and Karen right?" I nodded affirmatively. "People tend to get together on The Team. Artemis and Wally. Megan and Conner, until recently, now Megan and Lagon. Karen and Mal were together before they joined, but the life risking certainly hasn't _weakened_ their relationship." She said sarcastically.

"So he was ribbing them?"

"Yeah." That wasn't everything though, I waited for the rest. "I can't say for sure, but knowing Nightwing he was probably bragging a bit," she said, uncomfortable with talking about him behind his back, but unable to completely cover her mild disaproval.

"You mean…?"

"He was with Raquel for a time, and Zee on and off, along with other girls he meets through the gig and on his own time. Everyone knows he's not serious about a relationship, so there's no hard feelings when he breaks it off. But he can be such a…"

"Teenage boy?" I answered sadly. That explained the chemistry I'd sensed between him and Zatanna.

"Wally puts it as 'dog', but you've got the gist." For the first time since I'd met her she seemed down on herself.

I realized what she wasn't saying. Knowing each other so long, it was unlikely that there wasn't something going on between them. But Barbra was too proud to share, and he was too wild to commit. My unstated fantasy became more implausible. It seemed to me that she and he were probably meant to be endgame. It would be best for both of them, I realized, if I stayed out of the whole thing. But it as much to myself as to her that I said, "Maybe if he ever settles himself."

We sat companionably for a spell, before she changed the subject, with my blessing. "Badminton's a good model for what you'll be doing, working in coordination and such. Keep that in mind as you move forward," she advised, reiterating the message, suspecting correctly I was too flustered to get it the first time.

"I know. Just haven't done much in the way of Teams."

"Yet your sport is football?"

"I only got to play for half a year in 9th grade." I'd been the best part of the year that'd fully convinced me to go back to home schooling. "I mostly just blocked whoever I was pointed towards rather than be involved in plays."

"Still a team effort." I shrugged and looked away. "You'll get there. Ask KF about how Nightwing acted in their mission against Bane. Everyone runs solo at first." She chortled as she evidently replayed the story in her head. Seemingly she'd moved past her unresolved issues regarding his romantic habits.

"KF?"

"Kid Flash. Wally."

"Oh, thanks."

"Yeah, everybody's got a lotta names they go by around here. It's just something you pick-up the longer you're around." Though Barbra was maybe a year younger than I, she didn't rub her abundant experience in my face. She just shrugged it off and didn't mind explaining.

"Oh look! Green Arrow and Black Canary are here! Who's that in the back of their car?" She asked herself and walked off to go find out. I ambled under a tree and sat down. I was still overheated from the game and from my charge. I cooled down for a few minutes before Nightwing came over.

Projecting down to me he said, "You indulged me in my game, here's a chance to prove yourself in yours," and to the group at large, "Who's up for football?" There was a cheer. Lagoon Boy grumbled. Nightwing addressed the crowed again, but him specifically, "And Zatanna agreed to glamour the field so we are going to have a _real_ Super Bowl." That cheered the Atlantean up considerably.

Everybody headed over to the field, Wally and Artemis having returned from their respective duties. Zatanna raised her hands and said, "Maintain glamour and baffle all sound emanating from within!" The air around the field shimmered, but before it had finished she added as an afterthought, "And protect us from sunburn!" All the words sounded odd, as if they had been said through a synthesizer or a bad PA system. I was more occupied by their meaning though and I snorted, amused despite myself at her consideration. Barbra noticed.

"What's so funny?"

"The sunscreen clause."

"Huh?"

"In Zatanna's… spell?" I guessed, judging that to be the correct term for the energy shift around me.

"You understood what she said?"

"You didn't?"

"No, she says her spells backwards…"

"Oh…" Well, I guess that explained why it sounded somewhat funny. Before I could offer further comment, Nightwing called for attention.

"Miss Marian and I are captains," His face was entirely serious, but I got the sense that he had a mischievous grin on the inside, "And, we're doing this school yard style. KF, you're with me!" Competitiveness was clearly on his mind. Megan chose Artemis, who flipped her now pony-tailed hair at Wally.

As soon as Nightwing had said school yard I started to fade out. I hated this sort of thing, seeing who was better liked, more skilled, more known. I didn't do anything so drastic as turn invisible (not that I could, as far as I knew), but I semi-subconsciously tried to keep the focus off of myself. This way at least I'd have a good excuse about why I'd inevitably chosen last.

Nightwing picked Superboy next, and Megan chose Rocket.

"What, are we doing battle of the sexes?" Barbra heckled.

Nightwing's face had the stiffness of one who knows anything he says will make things worse. "You want to come fix that?" He invited in an attempt at graciousness.

"Because you always need a woman to fix things!" Barbra answered, milking his discomfort for all it was worth.

"Well, then, I guess I'll need Robin." Megan said.

The drafting continued. Nightwing selected Zatanna, Wonder Girl, Beast Boy, and Karen. Megan went with Mal, Captain Marvel (interesting that he was so far down the list, I'd have to learn more about the Leaguer), Lagoon Boy (after a significant amount of less than subtle muttering), and lastly me. As I had known.

"Basic football rules, particular emphasis on holding penalties." He looked out onto the group with such a wide assortment of skills and abilities that would trip a person up. "Full tackle, but let's try not to break anything. Tipping the ball with objects is fine, but no outside influence on the ball. Interceptions via hands only. Or feet or tail or trunk," He added in deference to Beast Boy. "That work for everyone?"

"Aren't you forgetting your star player?" Green Arrow drawled jovially.

"I don't think so… Wally, SB, Barb… everyone's here. Who could I _possibly_ be forgetting?" His friendly sarcasm was ignored as he made room for Green Arrow in the huddle.

"As if you'd stand a chance without me!"

"Now the teams aren't even!" Someone complained.

"Dinah will play, won't you?" Green Arrow volunteered Black Canary, who was standing to the side.

"Oh no, don't drag me into this." She glared.

"Too late!" He literally dragged her over to Megan's team. She protested, but it was obvious to everyone how much she was enjoying his antics.

"It seems you may require an officiating body," the bald man who had come with Green Arrow and Black Canary spoke up for the first time. His speech was oddly stilted, as if English were not his first language, though he lacked an accent. The closest comparison I could think of was to Data from STNG.

"Who's that?" I asked Artemis, who was the closest person I actually knew.

"Right now, John Smith. But you may know him better as Red Tornado." She whispered helpfully.

"The robot?"

"Android right now. He built a humanesq body for himself to better integrate into society/understand people."

"No wonder he reminds me of Data," I said to myself.

"Now that's a show I've been wanting to watch," Artemis stated approvingly, as I shined in happy disbelief that I'd met a fellow casual fan. "We should get together to watch it sometime, if the 'trek' out here isn't too inconvenient." I smiled cautiously.

John Smith was not done speaking, "It seems that I am the ideal solution to your need as I am able to impartially judge when violations of the regulations have occurred and am equipped with my own instant replay." He smiled at his small joke. It was definitely android humor. I made a note to try to avoid contact with him, lest I short him out.

With that the teams separated to discuss tactics. Rocket was designated our QB; Megan, Artemis, Robin, and Black Canary chose to be receivers; Mal and I were running backs/tackles, and Lagoon Boy and Captain Marvel were offensive line.

I was surprised at first that Lagoon Boy was picked for line, even given that he had removed the bracelet so I could properly see his musculature. That was until he stretched and… basically went puffer fish. He blew up like a balloon, every muscle in his chest and arms swelling to about quadruple sized, and the stripes on his shoulders glowed. He wouldn't be able to move far or fast, but he'd be hard to move.

On the other end of the field Beast Boy had assumed the shape of a bear, so I figured I should prepare as well. I increased my charge above the low level I was at to maintain my appearance until I had enough of a store of light to use for whatever the situation called for. I couldn't imagine a need to set fire to anything, but there were a couple of other tricks I thought might come in handy, if I could pull them off. Luck, after all, favors the prepared.

Hearing about a football game is not nearly so interesting as watching or playing, so I'll be brief. Suffice it to say I was absorbed in the game, for once completely free of my social inhibitions. Their team was up first, and made a 27 yard gain off a pass interference call on Megan against Nightwing, though I didn't actually see whether she had held him or the ball telekinetically. Kid Flash almost took it for a touchdown a few plays later, but Artemis managed to shoot a grappling arrow in front of him, which Robin caught, tripping up the speedster. There was some debate about the legality, but it was eventually decided it fell within regulation. Captain Marvel got an excellent block off against Superboy on third down, blocking the running lane and holding them to a field goal. We only made moderate progress on our drive, and were forced to kick it away. On 2nd and 4 at our 45 Green Arrow managed to go long with the accuracy of an archer and hit Batgirl, who broke two tackles and made it in for a TD. We were vindicated several plays later when Rocket successfully faked having the ball and going to Black Canary, when in all actuality Mal had it and was able to get outside and take it to the end zone.

For the most part, I blocked relatively successfully, buying Rocket time to throw the ball down field. I didn't even flinch as I threw myself at Beast Boy the bear; the need to protect my quarterback and the ball overrode the instinct to run _away_ from a snarling wall of fur and teeth.

The highlight of my personal involvement was our next drive, after an interception by Megan (who had grown an extra set of arms for the occasion). I took the handoff and managed to avoid the wall and get past the line of scrimmage. Wonder Girl was playing safety and was headed full speed to intercept. I held out a hand as if to stiff arm, but instead let out a blinding flash of light and cut left, leaving Wonder Girl too blinded to follow. I was almost free, but Zatanna managed to catch me from behind. I could have torn away, I know I could have. But as soon as she hit me, I felt this probing, orange aura sliding over me. Instead of focusing on breaking the tackle, my mind was on throwing up light around the dark center I sensed she was unconsciously looking for. I must have succeeded because she got up and celebrated with Cassie as if nothing had happened while Nightwing gave me a hand up despite being on the other team. Seemingly Zatanna was unaware of the entire ethereal encounter. My run got us into field goal range, which tied us up.

After that things intensified exponentially. No one said so, but the sun was setting and it was clear that this was sudden death. These were not the sort of people who would volunteer for a tie, even for something as trivial as a game. We tried a quick snap to Rocket, but Beast Boy got around me and sacked her. Hard. I'd been knocked asside, so I didn't see what prevented him from carrying her to the ground, but I heard the slam, and I heard the yell. Without a thought to the game I got up to see if I could help at all. Around me, the others were still engaged. It baffled me until I realized that it was probably a reflection of their battle habitation; you _don't_ desert your post, it will only worsen circumstances. That was how intense things had gotten.

I wasn't hardened to the cries as they were. Rocket was clutching her ankle and hissing and Beast Boy was crouching next to her, now mostly human again, looking distressed. I knelt down and put a hand around her shoulder.

"I didn't mean to!" Protested Beast Boy, and I could sense it was true; he's embarrassment and shame that he'd tripped on his approach and hadn't been able to arrest his momentum were almost as salient as Rocket's pain.

"She knows, go get some ice." I commanded kindly to the flustered younger boy, and he obeyed. John Smith had blown the whistle, but the people down field hadn't heard. "Close your eyes for a moment," I advised the older girl. When she did, I let out another flash. Flashes were easier than fire anyways, less need for control, getting rid of the energy that cramped me. It had the intended effect; auditory information can be tuned out, but everyone will look towards a sudden movement like that. Play stopped and people rushed over. Nightwing got to us first.

"What happened?"

"I'm fine," grimaced Rocket, still holding her leg.

"I missed my block and then Beast Boy misjudged his approach and hit her funny, her ankle…"

"May I see?" he asked her. She pulled her hand away reluctantly and he pressed it with the deliberate and practiced way of someone who has performed first aid all too often. She hissed.

"I think it's just a sprain," he told her confidently. "It'll be fine in a week or so."

"I sai'd it was nothin'."

"Keep it on ice," Nightwing recommended as Beast Boy returned with just that. She did so for a few minutes before she was helped off the field. As she hobbled she made some comment or another about how she was _this_ close to escaping and going for the TD. That made everyone relax and people started to laugh about the game. I smiled to myself, seeing everyone happy again.

Barbra, Zatanna, and Karen approached me, with Barbra at point.

"Thanks for recommending that. Good training and good fun."

"Yeah," I replied, a tad out of breath now that the adrenaline had worn off.

"Think you'll be sticking around?"

I looked at her confused.

"On The Team," Zatanna clarified.

"Oh." I nodded.

"Then you'll be wanting a uniform," Bee said, getting to their point.

I looked down and my purple T-shirt and grey sweats.

"It doesn't really say 'hero'," tsked Zatanna condescendingly.

"If you're interested, we'd love to help you pick out something," Barbra said more diplomatically.

"Okay," I conceded uncomfortably.

"When works for you?

"Ummm… next Sunday?"

"Sure."

"Works for me."

"Okay."

The sun was very low in the sky now, and moonrise was not long after the set; I needed to get home, or at least under cloud cover. Karen rounded up Mal and Megan and we said our goodbyes. Artemis even made a special effort to pat me on the back and reminded me that I could confide in her if I started having any trouble.

The ride home was fortunately not as bumpy as the trip out, but it still made me inexplicably queasy. I dropped my charge as soon as the Bioship had taken off and after a brief good bye to Mal and Karen, headed straight to my room. It was only a brief stop to gather up my bathing gear so that I could shower off. I stood under the hot water for a long time, letting it soak into my sore muscles and wary soul. The picnic could not have been more fun, or a greater success (except maybe for Lagoon Boy), but it was still too much time spent around people. I'd had more physical contact in those few hours than in the past year, and it was a shock to my system. Even though I liked most of them, it was a heavy strain to keep up both my physical and emotional appearance. I needed my nest, my home, my sanctuary. I needed quite, and sleep.

I gave one last effort to focus on the highlights of the day, knowing that focusing on the toll would make next time that much harder. I tried to focus on Artemis and Barbra, who both clearly wanted me to feel comfortable. Even in a way that Karen didn't. She had been right to let me fend for myself, but she hadn't stopped by when I was sitting alone, hadn't asked me how I was holding up. I couldn't focus on the other two without bringing up the discouraging comparison.

The last thing that replayed through my head as the Zzzz's settled in was the instant I had run into Nightwing. Before it had become awkward and a sign of my short comings. Before I realized how little contact I'd had with others. For just a moment I had felt reassured, comforted, to have him at my back. This person I hardly knew. This person who could never be anything to me.

 _What is it about him?_


	10. 10: A Different Kind of Learning

Chapter 10

I don't want to talk about picking out my costume.

The most important consequence is that I settled on a red, yellow, purple, and blue tie-dyed three-fourth length top with a starburst pattern and navy pants riddled with pockets (my only insistence). My designers accessorized me with a neon blue mask that made a sun pattern over my forehead. It stood out against the sun-bleached blond hair and tan skin of my charged appearance, while accenting the blue eyes. I got talked into wearing my hair in a high pony using matching blue sparkly scrunchy. It gave me a headache, but being charged for any appreciable length of time did that anyways, so it wasn't majorly inconvenient. I also got a red and orange sash-belt, because Karen said my costume didn't have enough fiery flair.

Objectively, I loved the outfit. It pretty and perfect for fiery heroine fresh from California. Stylish, strong, sexy.

It made me shiver with unease, seeing that stranger in the mirror.

That wasn't the main reason I don't want to think about the occasion. The real discomfort came from being a human dress up doll. All three of them pouting and poring over me, thrusting me into a changing booth, when they had the courtesy. Half the time Zatanna muttered a word or two and her magic whipped around me and I'd find myself in a new outfit after a mental parry to keep my nature hidden. They simply assumed I'd be fine with it.

My first day wearing the thing; that's a better vignette.

The Bioship's hatch opened into a spacious, multileveled hanger. There were no windows to be seen as I looked around, though the blue paneling gave the impression of openness. One wall contained two circular indentations that didn't seem to go anywhere but were framed in metal like a camera lens. Nearby I sensed a huge source of power, probably the generator for the base; it seemed unlikely this place was on the grid.

I stepped off, dressed in uniform but with a bag containing a change slung over my shoulder and my laptop tucked under my arm. As soon as I was a few steps away, Megan shut the ramp and took off for her date. I turned to watch her go. The flight had hardly bothered me at all this time; maybe I was getting used to it. The ship flickered until it matched the sky as I watched, but I could still tell it was there and tracked its progress as it departed.

Someone was approaching silently from behind, from habit rather than malice, so I didn't bother to turn.

"That the laptop I've heard about so much?" Nightwing asked, somewhat rhetorically.

 _No, it's something I picked up at the dump_. I thought deliberately contrary, but in a friendly way. "Mhm," I muttered aloud. I'd told her I had a techy friend rig it up as a "thought experiment" after my transformation and she'd bought it, not knowing the limited reach of my friend circle. Karen suggested I give it to Nightwing, whom she thought could reverse engineer it into a more secure communicator similarly unaffected by my influence more easily than making one from scratch.

I sensed tension as he looked at the device and turned to look him in the face. As I suspected his brow was furrowed above the mask he wore. This was the first time I had seen him kitted out for work; his costume was tight but plain, all black with a blue eagle emblem on his chest. He had a belt hung with pouches of all shapes and size, most prominently a holster at his right hip holding twin fighting sticks. I sensed circuitry running throughout his suit, similar to that of Robin's. Quickly I looked back up at his face to avoid the impression I was checking him out.

"Where did you get that?" He demanded, accusatorily.

"An acquaintance of a friend who works at LexCorp." I answered warily, on defense. His frown deepened. "Why?"

"We've had bad business with them," was his nonspecific answer. From my own experience I could piece together some of what he meant, but it perturbed me that he didn't bother to explain. Clearly it was an important dynamic around here. "It doesn't matter. Give it here."

 _Would a please hurt you?_ I complied without comment, keeping my irritation off my face, though not quite out of my slightly jerky movements. Something was clearly on his mind separate from the laptop, though I couldn't tell what.

"Let me drop this off and I'll give you a proper skill assessment before your meeting." _What meeting?_ He turned and headed out one of the halls on the east side of the room, not bothering to see if I came.Was he going to tell me anything or just expect me to follow like a sheep? I followed meekly after a brief hesitation, feeling too insecure to make a fuss.

He stopped in one of the many rooms off the main corridor, locking the computer in a Faraday cage within. The workroom contained wires, circuit chips, and solders everywhere I looked, but there was only one chair; not a lot of people worked here. I didn't step in behind him worried my stress might damage one of the projects within. He relaxed a bit as we passed more doors, most of which were closed, though he was still preoccupied. I didn't attempt conversation and instead peaked into those that were open, though I only had a brief chance given Nightwing's purposeful pace. I saw what seemed to be a gym behind one door, a medical bay behind another, and what might have been a kitchen, though I could only see counters in my glance.

Eventually Nightwing lead me up to a high ceilinged, well-lit, circular room. The walls were a combination of finished and rough cut dark stone, suggesting that we were underground. There were another two of those circular indentations on the far side of the room, and glass panes on what would have been the third floor. I could not see into them, but for all I knew, someone could be looking down. The room was dominated by a large tubular metallic structure that shed light onto a circular panel of the floor constructed of some material I didn't recognize. I tried to figure out what the contraption was for without much success.

"It's a holographic computer." He answered my unasked question. "This is where we organize most missions, and it's useful to pull up specs." He stood on the paneling and made a vague yet deliberate gesture. A holographic screen with a picture of me arose between us. Next to the picture were several information fields that were blank; name, birthday, place of birth, that sort of thing. About the only sections that were filled in were: Designation-Nova; Primary Abilities- Sun Empowerment-Pyrokinesis; Emergency Contact-Karen Beecher. The lower part of the page contained subdivisions for other skills, which Nightwing highlighted with a touch.

"Superpowers aren't enough around here. Everyone learns basic self-defense and martial arts. Show me what you know so far." He beckoned impatiently.

His autocratic tone was like an untuned instrument to me—dissonant and painful to my resonant feel of his nature. He'd been off since I'd arrived, more that usual, and the combination of outward insensitivity and inward incongruity was concerning. I replied irritably to cover my confusion and hurt, but walked onto the panel dutifully. "Why? I'll burn anyone who tries to touch me."

Superboy had walked into the room through another passage. "That's more or less what I said to start. Strength." He said, making it clear he wasn't talking about fire. To Nightwing, "Remember Black Canary's response?" He chuckled darkly and cocked an eyebrow.

Nightwing returned with a roguish grin of his own. He then crouched down like a tiger and swept out a leg. It knocked my feet out from under me and I fell hard on my side with an ooof. Though the panel was softer than expected, the force still jarred my focus and some of my stored energy converted to heat around me. My moonstone necklace flicked out from under my shirt and clinked against the floor as I faced it, wishing my hair was down to hide my shame.

"Guess so," Superboy finished.

I wheezed a few times before one wheeze managed to sound like, "Point." I propped myself up but couldn't quite rise. My cheeks were tight and hot with angry embarrassment and my rising temperature. Not only was I to be physically wounded but emotionally as well. I wanted to stay curled up in a ball, but showing weakness around these two would be the worst way possible to escape the situation; I knew from experience capitulation led only to worse harassment. Though fighting only ever brought brief respite, brief was sometimes necessary to recover.

I struggled slightly more upright and my pendant swung around my neck. Nightwing frowned at it.

"No loose jewelry. Off."

That did it. Still mad and mistrustful I snarled at the newest order, "No." This pendant was the one thing that was still me in this whole charade, taking it off, particularly at such a command was unthinkable.

"It is a choking hazard, a liability to you, and more importantly to the Team. Off."

He had a semi-valid point, but I knew that defending the necklace would not distract me. He was too worked up to listen to such logic though; I'd have to prove it. "Fine," I said with false casualness, "If _you_ can get it off me, I'll agree to take it off for training and missions." He looked down at me, still unable to get off the floor, incredulity and annoyance popping away from him. "You have to get it off me without knocking me unconscious; otherwise it's not a liability, I am." It was the most forceful thing I had said since joining, but it needed saying. I wish defensiveness weren't the most reliable way of getting me to speak up.

"You're being ridiculous." He retorted snappishly. "If you don't listen to me you'll end up getting yourself or someone else hurt. My op, my rules/"

"That's not how a _Team_ works." I spat.

From behind his mask I could see the movement of his eyes rolling in exasperation, though behind it I could feel the sting as he realized the truth of my words. He snatched at my necklace from the right, derisively, expecting no resistance and the end of my defiance. _Too obvious_. I bobbed and slapped his hand away. The other hand came from up under my guard, but again he was rebuffed. Each lightning quick strike I anticipated and countered, my extra senses on high alert from the heat of my irritation. He realized the futility and I felt him switch tactics. With my next block he grabbed my arm and threw me over his hip, slamming me on the ground. Again my breath was knocked out but I kept focus. He leaned over to pull of the necklace. The second his gloved fingers touched the metal of the chain, I let lose a burst of energy into it; his glove charred. He hissed and recoiled.

Superboy laughed. "Need a hand?"

"Has to be me, she said" I rolled to my feet, almost enjoying myself now that I knew Nightwing felt my own frustration. The sudden release of the difficultly-stored sunlight had left me more than a little dizzy for a moment but I let none of it show.

His eyes narrowed, calculating. He lunged at me and I dodged. Inertia made the chain swing and he flicked a birdrang at it. I felt the blade brush my cheek the trajectory was so precise, but when it stuck in the wall behind me, it was the 'rang that was in two pieces, having melted as it hit the chain. I stood solid, waiting for the next attack. Desperation leaked from behind his controlled front. It was seeping into this task from his general stress from earlier.

He threw a pellet at my feet and a thick cloud of smoke rolled upward, obscuring the room. _I suppose he doesn't know you can see without light_. He was clearly etched in silver and I easily ducked under his next grab and tackled his knees. It wasn't necessary to go on the offence in this bout, but I knew he would not be expecting such an amateurish move; he was used to fighting without his sight, but not against people who had no idea what they were doing. My momentum carried us out of the smoke, and besides the fresher air, the situation remained unchanged. I saw cold design in his eyes, sparkling with confidence at his new approach.

He pulled out another pellet and crushed it in the hand with the intact glove. Frost raced over the material and up his arm. I stared, feeling the chill burrow into the fabric. It was insulated, but that cold pricked onto skin, muscle. He didn't care: in that moment of flow his plan was working against the _enemy_ , me. He reached for my necklace and I couldn't safely generate enough heat all at once to stop him.

So I didn't. Instead I called to the licks of heat that were fighting the freeze away from his hand, and his fingers froze, unable to close. He stood staring at me in a moment in disbelief.

"I yield." Though the words hurt him to say they were still filled with dignity, a strategic concession from a lost cause as was proper. Once the words were said, I felt whatever had been disrupting his energy begin to clear.

"That almost worked," I admitted, more concerned about his arm than angry, or even satisfied. I tentatively touched his frozen hand.

"I…can't feel that." He frowned, but there was no trace of panic.

"I think I can fix it, if you give me a sec." _I hope…_

"Don't melt it off." There was still no worry. Between my lack of gloating and the exhilaration of a fight he was almost back to what I thought was normal, despite the fact that his arm was a popsicle.

Into his hand I sent in waves of heat, shooing away the frostbite now that I had the luxury of time to control the dispersion. The freeze had been so complete it had preserved rather than lysed the cells at the surface. Though he'd been joking about me melting his arm, the exertion from the fight was making my control shaky even given the lack of time demand, and I fought the urge to shake off foreign force and return to center. My legs trembled at the effort of not to letting an excess of energy rush away from me all at once, which would not only let down my guise but would burn his arm. I bit my lip and kept the stream at a steady rate until Nightwing's arm was thawed. The transfer was less than efficient and I felt the crawling of fever begin to prick at my back. I had only enough energy left to keep my form up and even that was sending spikes through my head. I rubbed his hand, to get the blood moving though his veins and to relieve some of my own tention.

I sighed as I gently kneaded. "There's one thing you didn't try. To get me to take it off." I clarified.

"What?"

I looked at him sadly, emanating disappointment.

"Would you take off your necklace. Please." His voice was not pleading; that would not become a leader. But it radiated respect, which befit a teammate. That was enough. I unhooked the chain and zippered it into a pocket. _That's more who you are._

"Nicely done. Fighting technique could use some work, but you made your point." Superboy, whom I'd almost forgotten, nodded to me. "He let the leadership thing go to his head a bit; he only took over last month." He cocked his head, silently asking if he should say more in front of a not-quite initiate. Nightwing gave an almost imperceptible shake no.

"You couldda said something, SB." He said sourly.

"Yeah, I could have. But you would have worked it out by yourself eventually. Besides, didn't bother me, and this was definitely more fun to watch."

"Don't you have something better to do?" Nightwing suggested.

"No, but I'll take Wolf for a walk," Superboy gave an ironic wave and left.

I was still rubbing Nightwing's hand, though the blood was flowing thought it again.

"You're good at that." I felt his pleasure at the reassuring pressure of my hand through the contact. He didn't think anything of it; physical contact was as natural to him as breathing. To me though, it was as strange and terrifying as I imagined skydiving. Embarrassed, I dropped the hand abruptly. "We have time for a proper lesson, albeit a small one, if you're up for it." Nightwing shook out his arm.

"Before what?"

"I didn't say? Black Canary talks to all the new recruits."

"Oh."

There was a short awkward pause. He was too keyed up to let it stand for long.

"Yeah. Sorry for acting so…I'll try to be more… -ciplinary." From 'dis-ciplinary'; I sensed this was a running thing with him and he continued. "You caught me at a bad time." With that full admission the last traces of what had caused the dramatic shift in his presence dissipated, though he was still weighted with something different from the person I had first met. It seemed imprudent to ask exactly what it had been and thus bring it back up, so I just gave an accepting shrug. "Are you up for another round?"

"If you promise not to throw me on my butt. Again."

"No promises, but a warning is fair. After all, 's how this works." The smile that crept out of his neutral expression was equal parts impish and radiant.

I sighed my acknowledgement to cover up my charmed reaction. "Oh well,"

The training session didn't get far. I was pretty wiped out, but he was understanding. For the most part he had me practice basic kicks and blocks, with only a small practice bout to finish off. He did surprise me and toss me on my tuchas at the very end, but he did so gently, placing me on the floor and helping me up afterwards. He showed me to a locker room where I quickly showered off and changed into more casual sweats while he waited outside. I was tiredly reserved as he led through the halls and he respected my silence until we neared our destination.

"Hey, Black Canary usually trains new members; she's a better teacher. I took over this once because she can be harsh on the mat…She didn't want that influencing you in your entry interview." He paused, considering what he'd just said. "Which I sorta just did…" He said in a self-derisive way. "Anyway, she's just going to ask some question to figure out the best way to settle you in. Once you're up to speed, you'll see more of me and the rest of the Team. 'Til then." He nodded before bowing me through the automatically sliding door and waving farewell.

The room I entered had the same half-modern half natural motif as the other rooms I had encountered. The three walls that I could see upon entering were of the faceted stone above hip level, smoothed below, with lighting from below to highlight the features and striations of the rock. The wall directly in across from me had a waterfall running floor to ceiling that had a calm but steady trickle. It drew my eye upward to the ceiling, which was smooth with six incandescent lights recessed at regular intervals. In the middle of the room were two large, green arm chairs, both with plain, square tables on both sides of the seat. The one to the right was occupied by Black Canary in her blue jacket over white blouse and fishnet stockings that dove into her boots. She stood to greet me and her long blond hair fell around her face. As I turned to track her progress I got a better look at the fourth wall. Unlike the others it was all smooth stone, with long mirrored panes to give the illusion of windows. They and the reflective door which had closed behind me reflected the waterfall. Ferns in the corners completed the impression of a mountain glade.

"Hello, we didn't meet properly at the picnic, Black Canary." She introduced warmly, reaching out her hand to shake mine. I took it firmly.

"Nova," _as I'm sure you know_. At the word a question pulsed through her and down my arm, but she didn't voice it, instead inviting me to sit. The chair was plush and deep, but sturdy. One could sit in it formally, sideways, curl up in it, or even upside-down. I myself sat upright, facing Black Canary, but tucked into the corner a bit. There was a tangle of emotional residue that clung like cobwebs to the seat, but it was too faint to attempt to unravel it into specific feelings. It just let me know that serious stuff had gone down in this room with relative frequency.

"Welcome, I'm glad you decided to stay on. Do you have any questions you want to ask before we get started?"

"Ummm… how does this thing all work?"

She looked at me blankly for a second before letting out a bell like laugh. At first I worried that she thought me an inattentive imbecile, but my assumption was quickly corrected. "God, I've been around people who've been in biz for too long. I'd assumed that anyone with an inclination to be a hero would know, but why would you?" I didn't quite know how to respond so I just waited for an actual answer. "How much do you already know?"

"I know that the Justice League helps out a lot during national disasters, and stops high powered psychopaths from… whatever they want to do…Nightwing told me that the Team used to be part of the Justice League, but that now they aren't, and they do smaller scale operations usually. But you're League, aren't you… so what is your role? And how exactly are missions executed? What will I be doing?" Though I was unsure of myself, the questions rolled off the tongue. Black Canary had that way about her, the way that made you want to talk. That unnerved me a bit and I bit the inside of my lip to keep from spilling out something stupid.

"Okay. Yes, it's true that the League generally handles the extreme disasters, both natural and engineered and that the Team generally handles more delicate missions. I think a little history might help here. The Team was started five years ago when Nightwing, then Robin, Kid Flash, and Aqualad," there was a squeeze of sadness with the last name, though her face did not show it, "were assigned to investigate a minor fire together at a place called Project Cadmus. They discovered something unusual and investigated themselves, rather than contacting their mentors once they knew there was more to the situation. As a result of their actions, the Cadmus facility was destroyed. However, on their own, the three managed to rescue Superboy, who was created at Cadmus, and made their case that they worked well together. The League decided to allow their protégés to work together in what we now call The Team as practice with the responsibilities of being a more independent hero and to gain experience of working with people of varying abilities, as they would if they joined the League, once they grew older. Over the years, more young heroes have joined the ranks, and some have moved on to join the League.

"At first, there was a high level of supervision from various League members. Batman assigned and evaluated mission success, I did training, and Red Tornado was their direct overseer. I believe that they liked to refer to him as their 'den mother'." She smiled at the ridiculousness of a large red metal man able to create furious cyclones being called anything so domestic. "Oversight of the Team has since shifted to Nightwing, and to a lesser extent Miss Martian and Superboy. All three are old enough and experienced enough to join the League, but choose to remain here. Mostly the Team chooses its own missions, though Nightwing and Batman frequently coordinate efforts. As for me, I still train newbies and get them into fighting shape, and by mutual agreement interview new members." She started to ask another question before realizing that her history lesson only covered part of the question.

"Right now, the Team is so large that it rarely requires all members to be on the same mission. Nightwing's gotten into the habit of subdividing into squads. Alpha, Beta, Gamma, labeled according to expected intensity of the task. For example, something simple like body guarding a foreign dignitary would probably warrant a Beta squad, with some of the more experienced and powerful members held in reserve for an emergency. Something like an international convention would have an Alpha guarding, Beta perimeter of the building and Gamma on back up. Individual members will sometimes get long term assignments, or go work with their mentors for a time. That's the general organization around here." I nodded my thanks. "Now for you."

I didn't answer, just blinked poignantly.

"We'd like to know a bit more about you. For security reasons." Again she used that gentle tone. "Not that we don't trust you, but… we've had problems in the past, and its best to make sure. I'm sure you have nothing to hide, so you have nothing to worry about."

That was laughable.

"What do you want to know." I said carefully neutral, straining not to be defensive.

"Your real name for one thing," she asked.

"I'm sure you could find out who I am on your own, you know enough about how I got involved."

"Yes," she replied patiently, "but that'd be a breach of privacy. We'd rather have it from you. And it will just be for the records, no one will look it up without reason, if there's something you'd rather not share."

 _Like what?_ I wondered, before realizing the whole "family dead in a fiery crash" thing would probably qualify. There was no point in hiding, they'd look if I didn't say anything, and that wouldn't set the right tone. Not that they'd learn anything _true-_ ly important. I pretended to consider her words for a moment, while actually trying to recall the official information Lex had fabricated for me. I'd have to give up my name, but her promise that the information I gave here would remain circumspect rang true.

"I'm a freshman at Ivy University, which is how I met Karen and Mal. I'm most recently lived in Landaff, NH, with my parents," I managed not to trip on the word, "I was homeschooled me for most of my life, but attended a private school in Boston from 7th grade to the end of 9th." That part _was_ actually true. "Early last winter my parents were killed in a car crash than went off the side of the road." I paused for effect, making the visible effort not to 'snivel'. "I've been wandering on my own since. The people that attempted a rescue connected me to a charitable organization that is paying my tuition, but I don't have a permanent residence anymore."

I didn't want the pity she was radiating, particularly when the tale was largely false, so I pressed on.

"I helped out Karen in lab sometimes at school. You'll have heard about the shooting, and the averted disaster. Since tehn I can control flame after I've been exposed to sunlight; after sundown I can't maintain it well or very long." I stopped. She was still pitying me regarding my 'parents', and the pity buzzed around me like a housefly. "Quit it." I murmured.

"What?" She asked confused.

"Don't feel sorry for me." I muttered with distaste.

"I'm not," She said, voice solid with absolute conviction, but the emotion radiated nevertheless, still swarming me.

"Don't lie to me." I asked frankly, sorry I couldn't return the curtesy I asked for.

My words startled her; she wasn't expecting something so direct from what she had sized up from me. This washed out the pity in the air. "You're right; sincerity deserves sincerity." We sat in silence for a moment. "You still haven't told me your name."

"Fia Sullivan." I felt exposed, telling it to her, in this environment where secret names and secret lives were the norm. But it was necessary. "I'd prefer Nova while I'm here."

"Thanks for confiding in me, I know this big adjustment must be tough for you." _Like I'd actually confide in you, like you actually understand how big of an adjustment this is._

"Yeah," I lamely responded instead.

We talked of trivial things for a few minutes, just to get away from the depression of my fabricated history, before discussing some logistics about my training.

Kick. Punch. Duck. Block. Roll. Repeat. Over. And over and over and over. Oh, and bruises. And soreness. That's all training is. Movies make a montage that's quick and fun, but the work is usually anything but. There were a few exceptions…

I wasn't a very quick study, but Black Canary was patient with me. She praised my defensive instincts, and sternly corrected my offensive blunders. And my footwork. And constant hesitation. I improved, but it was obvious I was not to be the next martial artist of the year. She also helped me develop my flame abilities for combat, though this was new ground for her as well. I was good with hitting up to three moving targets or five relatively stationary ones with small fireballs that I could make conflagrate upon impact, and I got pretty good at making plumes. I still wasn't quite sure how I would use these skills in a fight, with such a high damage potential compared to the incapacitation strategy preferred by the Team.

For the most part our sessions were one on one, as everyone else was a far better fighter than I and would have whooped me in an actual spar. Occasionally there were group lessons though, often taught by a specialist: tactics straight from the Batman himself; city streets area awareness (in the form of a paintball game) from Green Arrow; dealing with psychics (never worked quite right with me) from Miss Martian and her uncle Martian Manhunter, and climbing and aerials.

Pretty much every member of the newer generation was there for that lesson: Wonder Girl, Lagoon Boy, Mal, Karen, and me. Robin was there for practice more than learning, and Beast Boy just liked to monkey around. Megan had agreed to play safety net—nobody seemed to believe in harnesses. Zatanna also was there, and I didn't ask why, knowing I wouldn't like the answer. Batgirl and Nightwing were teaching.

The lesson took place in a high ceilinged room in the Cave I hadn't been to before, a few off from the gym. Three of the four walls were rock walls, one with placed hand hold and foot holds, one with hanging walls and chimneys, and the final one of only platforms and pillars made of the natural rock of the cave. The ceiling was a jungle of ropes of different lengths and configurations; there were hoops, ropes with knots, ropes without, hanging bars, a tire swing, cargo nets… if it swung, it was up there.

Robin and Nightwing took off up the rock wall to the ropes before I'd even realized it, and Beast Boy had flown up as a bird and was now swaying through the ropes as a simian. Barbra started the rest of us off on the rock wall. Wonder Girl had no problem with the climbing, but in her eagerness often forgot to plan her route and ended up stranded, having to backtrack to earlier even with Barbra's frequent reminders. Mal and Karen weren't as fast as their strong friend, but their deliberateness and frequent teamwork got them up the wall before her more often than not. Zatanna was more than competent, and clearly eager to move on.

I sucked. I didn't have the finger or arm strength, and had to plan long, tedious routes for marginal gains. The only reason I didn't feel like a complete failure was that Lagoon Boy was having even more trouble than I was. Slippery, webbed hands are simply not made for clinging to vertical surfaces. At first Barbra was supportive, but he made it difficult. She held out longer than I would have but eventually her patience wore out under his profanities and she sent him to the showers. Which I'm sure he preferred.

I _liked_ the wall with the ledges though, enough so that I forgot to compare myself to my comrades. Though the platforms were small and irregular, there was enough room to put both feet and both hands down, allowing me to crouch, cat like. No longer bound by the weakness of my arms and fingers I delighted in the thrill of my coiling muscles, leaping from perch to perch, pillar to pillar. I bounded up the cliff face for the elation of leaving the last thing behind me, in the past, and the absolute control of my body in space.

I was startled out of my trance by Barbra's surprised voice once I reached the larger platform at the top. "You're a natural at that. You almost beat Cassie." My emotional high settled and then dropped, leaving me winded from my exertion. "You could stand to pace yourself though," she added as a good mentor should. Mal, Karen, and Zatanna weren't far behind and Batgirl lectured us on our technique as Nightwing finished up a few exercises with Robin.

"I leave you in the capable hands of our resident monkey," Beast Boy turned his head and let out a chattering Ook. "The other monkey," Barbra said as Nightwing came dexterously down from the ropes.

"I'll take that as a complement." He bowed ironically and Batgirl smirked. "Gymnastics is all about timing, knowing when to change positions, when to translate the momentum and feeling your balance." He nodded to a string of roughly linear but offset ropes with foot loops at the bottom, leading to another platform about 25 feet away. "Try to get from here… to there. Beast Boy?" Beast Boy obligingly flew (figuratively, not as a bird) through the ropes, before going back to still their momentum. Nightwing nodded thanks and stood stoically with his arms crossed. "Questions?"

"How would you like me to get to the first rope?" The rope was too far to reach, or jump to, comfortably for a normal human, though it probably could be done. The question came from Zatanna, who said it not as if she had any doubts but rather like she wanted to know how creative she could be, her coquettishness making the air seem stuffy to me.

"Surprise me," he answered back suggestively to her alone. More seriously to the rest of us, "Part of the challenge."

Zatanna pressed her lips seductively before muttering in the synthetic-like voice I associated with her backwards speech, "curtains of silk plus one". The ropes were replaced with long stretches of silks in alternating reds and whites, with a new one hanging within easy arms reach. She grabbed it and wrapped her foot in the cloth, letting the ends flutter as she swung to the next one. Between each she did a simple pose that accentuated her lines and grace, but nothing too difficult. Uncomfortable, I looked to Barbra, who was smiling knowingly to herself and watching Nightwing's enraptured reaction without any malice, and to Karen and Cassie who were enjoying the art show. _So that's why she's here._

She took her time getting across milking her exposé, before returning the set up to normal with a flourish of her hand. Most of her audience clapped, showman that she was. Nightwing shook himself out of whatever fantasy that display had inspired for him, which caused Barbra to chuckle under her breath. "Next?"

Cassie stepped up, and, determined to live up to the bar that had been set, used her strength to jump to the second rope. I think with a running start she probably could have made it to the other platform, but she recognized the purpose of the exercise. She used her extra momentum and the extra arc of the pendulum to skip another rope. She tried to do this a third time, but took off just after the apex of the swing. I cringed, recognizing her trajectory would land her short and fearing for her fall. I'd forgotten she could fly. Once she realized she wasn't going to make it, she floated back to the start. She blushed, embarrassed, and the second time swung deliberately through the ropes, only gaining enough confidence back to skip at the very end. To her credit, Zatanna seemed to be comforting her on the other end, but I couldn't hear the exact words.

Karen shrank down to bee size and flew to the first rope, before growing back and swinging to gain momentum and made her way steadily through the course. Mal, with his superior height, felt comfortable enough to make the running jump and succeeded in grabbing the first rope, if a little lower than he'd intended. He too had no problems. Nightwing moved onward to introduce the next exercise, and Barbra followed.

That left me. I couldn't fly, I couldn't jump, I couldn't conjure another rope to get me across. Barbra waited patiently for me on the other side. I wrapped my hands unconsciously through my sash as I considered my options. Perhaps I could set out a jet of fire under the rope in hopes that the rising hot air current would be strong enough to start the rope swinging towards me, but that would risk burning the ropes and then I'd have no hopes of getting across. Then I realized I was holding the solution. Zatanna wasn't the only one who could do ribbon tricks. I flicked my sash whip-like at the target, only to have it fall a few inches short. _Damn._ I looked to Barbra for advice but she just shook her head. _More length_ … _Ah_!

Off came a sneaker, and I tied the lace to the sash. I was proud of my unconventional solution but doubted anyone else would see it as a conquest. Sometime you have to take the practical over the elegant. I aimed carefully with all the skill I'd acquired and actually managed to get through the loop at the bottom of the rope by the third try—shoes have a very different physic than fire. The shoe caught on the loop and allowed me to pull the rope over to the platform. The angle would require me to jump up, but it was better than out over the open air. I couldn't bend down to put my shoe back on without releasing the hard won rope, so I wrapped it and the sash around my neck.

It wasn't pretty, it wasn't graceful, it wasn't quick, but shakily I did make it to the other side without help. Barbra gave me a supportive pat on the back, and I beamed. Karen gave a quick nod of acknowledgement that I had gotten across, and Cassie was pointedly not making a big deal of it in an attempt at kindness, as I suspected erroneously thinking my performance embarrassing. Mal and Zatanna were focused on the next task and the guy explaining it respectively.

There were several courses with obstacles of increasing difficulty, all done solo. Despite the fact that my stamina had increased exponentially from my time before the Team, my arms began to give towards the end. I didn't volunteer to stop, but Batgirl recognized my fatigue and insisted I let Megan float me over to the last platform. It was embarrassing and uncomfortable to again be in the clutches of Miss Martian, but practical; I needed the break, and Batgirl assured me that no one expected me to be perfect so early in my training. The rest caught up the traditional route.

"Well done, everyone." Nightwing addressed the group.

"I think some kind of reward is in order." Suggested Zatanna slyly, sliding up to Nightwing. He leaned towards her.

"Such as?" he answered and she stepped away, playing hard to get.

"Surprise me." She replied echoing their earlier conversation.

"I think they should get to see the experts at work," Barbra butted in before things could get any more uncomfortable.

"You sure?" Nightwing asked challengingly.

"I always beat you." Her voice was solid and playful, but he was the one exuding surety.

"HORSE?" She nodded assent and they took off into the ropes. They began with moderately advanced tricks, first Barbra then Nightwing, matching move for move. But it wasn't long before the level of competition escalated into long series of amazing acrobatics.

Barbra had HORS and Nightwing only the HO, and Barbra was clearly tiring. She and Nightwing came to the central platform we were all sitting on to witness the potentially ultimate move.

Nightwing took a deep breath, smiled brilliantly right at Zatanna, and leapt into the canopy. It was clear from the instant he took off that he had been holding back for this finale. At first his movements were strong and sinuous, stable and confident, making it all look easy and at the same time showing his degree of difficulty. As he passed by the platform he threw in an extra flare in a jump, pausing in the shape of a Z before continuing onwards.

"Showoff." Muttered Batgirl crabbily, knowing she'd been beat but not completely immune to the spectacle before her. I agreed with her sentiment; the show was obscenely for Zatanna. Or so I thought. I realized that along with being annoyed at losing, Barbra was annoyed at herself for being… jealous. And with a look back to Nightwing, I saw he noticed Batgirl's reaction just as much as Zatanna's, if less obviously. Seemed he was using his first catch as bait for the grand prize. Typical. Disgusting and typical.

At least that's how it felt at first. As Nightwing flew, getting deeper into his routine, deftly releasing each hold at the perfect moment, I felt a shift in him. His attention turned away from the women and onto himself, and the air around him. Each movement displayed strength a little less in favor of grace. Lithely he twisted and turned between grabs, winding his way through the ether. Dancing with the sky. His supple body spun from rope to rope, bar to bar, diving and soaring, nimble and free. All of his being was dedicated to the feel of the wind combing his hair, the next rope welcoming him, clasping back. It resonated harmoniously with the feeling I had gotten bounding up the ledges, but more than that. It felt the way I did under the night sky, or in shadows. Which could only mean that to him, this meant home. The results of the depth of his connection to this exercise could only be described as artistry.

He landed again on the platform, flushed with exhilaration more than exertion, and everyone applauded.

"You win." Barbra conceded, but Nightwing merely nodded, the 'competition' and its ulterior motive a distant memory. He took a moment to collect himself, return to a place from which the rest of the group could understand him, and his natural mischievousness reasserted itself.

"You don't want to give it a try? You _could_ still win."

"When I'm fresh." She retorted, not to be wholly outdone.

And what, could possibly have topped something like that?

"Time to get you guys down." Nightwing announced and jumped onto a trapeze bar before hanging upside-down from it. His renewed contact reignited the flame of emotion he had banked seconds ago, though not to the inferno it had been during his routine. "Barb, do me the honor of demonstrating?" She jumped out into space and he swung to clasp her wrists. In an unspoken agreement, he gave her an extra flip as he released her on the other side of the arc and she completed a triple backflip before landing on a slide down to the ground.

Zatanna did a single flip on her descent, Karen, Mal, and Cassie without fanfare. Nightwing looked in my direction, "Megan can get you down, if you're too tired." I shook my head. I was still bathed in his elation and my fatigue forgotten. I leapt, unafraid, into the air, feeling it like he did, wondering how he could stand to do anything else with his life. Our hands locked around each other's wrists, and the contact amplified the feeling of joy of swooping and soaring within me. Like being hit by lightning. He felt it too and our eyes locked as tightly as our hands, as if there were no masks. Time seemed to slow but too soon we were on the other side. There was reluctance in his release, his fingers sliding along mine to elongate the contact.

And then I was falling, a single entity again. Alone, sliding. I coughed as I landed on the ground to give myself a moment to regain my composure.

"Glad to see you've been working on your trust issues." It took me a moment to realize what Karen had meant, and I grasped the whole thing _had_ been a trust exercise. Or at least, that's what it had been intended to be.

"You coming!?" Batgirl called up to Nightwing, who was still swinging in the rafters.

"I'm gonna stay a bit," He called down.

"Suit yourself."

I specifically probed him and found him confused, but shaking off the experience and rationalizing it to himself, to the point where it'd no longer be odd. There'd be no need for me to try to explain, which was fortunate because I wouldn't know where to begin.


	11. 11: Snowy Start

Chapter 11

"Up for a trip?" Nightwing asked to his young charge.

"Yes." Robin answered swiftly with a toss of the book he'd been studying across the table and a stretch. "How was your week with Batman?"

"Like the good old times. Don't change the subject," he chided without much force.

A more sarcastic person would have rolled his eyes, but Robin yielded without a fuss, "Fine. Where' we going?"

"Longyearbyen, Norway." Was the response.

"Okay."

"You aren't going to ask why?" Nightwing gave a small head shake of exasperation like he didn't want to be annoyed but he was.

"Doesn't matter. Anything is better than this book." That at last got a stern look from Nightwing for not taking things seriously. "Well, it can't be that serious or else you wouldn't have asked. And there'd be more people." When that didn't lift his mentors irritated brows Robin conceded, "What's the mission?"

I just happened to be in the room during this exchange. It was the lounge by the kitchen, which is where most of the socializing happened between missions. In addition to the counters I'd seen the first day there were several arrangements of low, square couches in gray or green. Some formed a seating area around a large flat screen TV, while others made a breakfast nook around a coffee table. The stove and oven looked out over all the seating so anyone cooking could be social too, and bar stools circled the outside of the counters. I'd mostly stuck to the corners when I wasn't training, observing interactions like this one or reading more history. It just happened that today's corner happened to be there.

"Recognizance," was Nightwing's authoritative reply. "Communications in the area went down a week and a half ago. League bounces a lot of its traffic through a station in the area. It's not unusual to have brief lapses but… it's getting long. We need to see what's the hold up, and fix the signal if we can." Made sense they were sending the techies.

"I'll be ready in 30. Supercycle?" Nightwing nodded appeased at last by Robin's attention and Robin took himself off. The vacated seat was claimed by Nightwing, who casually grabbed a chip that'd been left from Robin's studying. He bit just a tiny corner of his lip, thinking…

I blinked. The Cave had been awfully quiet lately. Wondergirl, Miss Martian, and Beast Boy were guarding a diplomatic summit, as far as I could tell Bumblebee had locked herself in the lab for the week leaving Mal in a funk, and Lagoon Boy was back in Atlantis with Aquaman. I couldn't guess how long this mission would take, though 'til it ended there wouldn't be much point in showing up for a while. Mal would hold down the fort, and Batgirl and Superboy would be in and out, but there'd be no—the place was just too big with only three people in it.

I shifted my weight, and the movement caught Nightwing's eye. He'd known I was there, hyperaware of everything, but I hadn't registered much. He turned to face me. "You should come."

That caught me off guard, "Huh?"

"You were listening?" Still surprised I nodded before I realized I'd admitted to eavesdropping. "It's a good mission for your skill set. Everything will be so frozen, you'll hardly get your feet wet at all." I gave a pathetically soft smile at his mixture of literal and figurative language. "I should have thought of it earlier."

"Maybe next time," I mumbled. "I'm not ready yet."

He shrugged, like it didn't matter, but his movements were a little too rough. "You're not going to get a better opportunity than this to start field work. We _are_ volunteer." We. The Team. This is what it meant to be a part of one. If I wanted to make up for my crimes against it, I had to go. Even though I didn't think I'd be much—or really any—use on this mission, it would give me the experience and make me more prepared for when it did matter. And if the power was out like it sounded like it might be, I could keep a fire going despite minimal fuel sources. Besides, I wasn't exactly sure of the location of Longyearbyen, but at this time of year Norway would have at least 17 hours of full sun, and never full dark. It'd be a headache and a half, but my secrets would be safe. "Mhmm." I assented with more bravado than I felt, before my unease snapped back like a paddleball.

"Just ask." Nightwing ordered Robin in an amusedly exasperated way. His young charge obviously wanted to say something and just as obviously thought it wasn't his place.

"Just how cold is it going to b-b-b-b-bbeeee?" he said, not quite managing to keep the chatter out of his voice. The Supercycle was open air, and though we were flying low, the temperature dropped as the latitude rose. Both boys wore appropriate attire, but cold was clearly not Robin's element.

"Seventeen F is average, gets as low as five this time of year, but a balmy 25 is possible." I could see him suppress a wicked grin. Robin shuddered, and not merely from the cold. I was remise in my duties, but I couldn't work up the nerve to touch him in order to transfer heat. Somehow I didn't think the Supercycle would appreciate my alternative solution of setting the compartment on fire, so I sat quietly in the back. For me at least, the temperature wasn't an issue; it wasn't the wind that was making me cold, but the slight fever of holding in the sunlight. I sat back against the seat, making half an attempt to redistribute the heat I held more comfortably. Nightwing showed no signs of discomfort. Maybe _his_ seat was heated. There wasn't much chit-chat for the remaining three hours of the flight. At least I wasn't queasy for any of it as the cycle's slower speed definitely helped with my air sickness.

Before long we began to pass over buildings. Nightwing had informed Robin and me that Longyearbyen was the local center of government for the region, but from the air it looked smaller than I'd expected. No more than 3000 people could be living there. It was situated on the coast of a fjord, nestled at the base of several snowy ridges. There seemed to be just one road through town with offshoots every hundred yards or so that only went a quarter mile, if that. Though a church, airport, and cinema matched my expectations, two features of the place stood out from the air. The first was a long rectangular structure on the outskirts of town that dove into the hillside. The steel and glass roof of the thing was illuminated with blue and white twinkling lights. Nightwing followed my gaze, "Svalbard Global Seed Vault." The name triggered a memory, something about pines taking over the world, but I couldn't quite place it.

More striking than the vault however, were the houses. The architecture was as dull as could be; ask a five-year-old with a box of crayons from a restaurant to draw a town and she would have drawn Longyearbyen. Long, straight rows of right-pentagon houses with shingled roofs and two windows apiece. She probably would have used each of her four or so colors for a different house too. That's exactly how Longyearbyen was. In no particular pattern, the slats were a bright red, yellow, minty green, or turquois blue. There were slightly fewer of the blue houses, which if this really had been a five-year-old's drawing would have been explained by her overusing her favorite color in an earlier work. The actual explanation, I had no idea. I wondered why they would use such unusual aesthetics, and realized the answer was right in front of me. Everything else in sight was white and grey, from mountains to valleys to sea. During three fourths of the year, their houses were probably the only color they got. Or maybe there'd just been a sale.

Considering that communications were out, it wasn't much of a surprise that we weren't met by a welcome wagon once we landed, particularly since it was late. Once we disembarked, our ride converted itself back into its normal sphere shape and followed us as we walked through the 'city'. Nightwing and Robin seemed to know where we were headed, so I just trailed along.

After the first few blocks, something started bothering me. It wasn't the lack of people on the streets, because local time was 3:26am. Maybe it was a delayed reaction to the long trip. Wind drifted snow across the street, making pretty swirls of white in the pale light of false dawn alone. The moon had set before the sun, so I'd been able to hold onto the borrowed solar power despite the pull of the moon. Our feet crunched through the unpacked snow, and the sounds echoed on the empty streets. An old habit got me walking in Nightwing's footsteps. His gait was slightly wider than mine, but I wasn't having trouble sticking to just the one set of footprints. The snow was wet and held the shape clearly. And the two sets ahead of me were the only ones.

I looked up. There was no snow on the roof of any of the buildings. Yes, they were slanted, but a snow this wet should have been heavy enough to stay up there long enough for the streets to be more used than this…Yes, there were piles of snow in front of some of the houses that had slid from above, yet remained uncleared. My unease increased.

A large satellite dish appeared out of the gloom, marking our destination. This place showed signs of activity. Snow had been piled up in a wall around the sides of the complex not sheltered by the hillside behind it. As we approached the lights came on in a flash, and a ring of fire raced around the snow wall giving it a 10 foot berth.

I felt confusion from Robin and concern from Nightwing, who called out our benign intentions. The wind swept the sounds behind us, and there was no change from the building. "We need to get closer," he muttered, not even bothering with the rhetorical question of what was going on. "Nova can you?" I nodded. I approached the fire and pulled the heat away from the fuel. It smelled like kerosene. "Not all of it," Nightwing instructed, "Just enough to get through." I guess he thought there was a good reason for the defenses. Once we were through I let flames return to their position, not enjoying the extra pressure it put on my core and appreciating the need for security. "Stay here," before I could protest he was gone. Robin seemed used to his disappearing act and didn't respond to the sudden absence. I stopped using my useless eyes and instead focused on his presences, tracking his path through the shadows. Wariness from both of them harmonized with my nervousness, all echoing in my stomach.

I felt Nightwing encounter people; he was still wary but didn't feel threatened. I started towards the building. Robin stuck his staff in front of me. "Wait for him to give the all clear."

"It's okay," I said, wanting to find out what the story was in this place.

"Wait." He said again. Before it became an issue Nightwing came out of the front doors and motioned us to join him before returning indoors. We crossed the frosty plain. This area had been trampled—more activity.

Inside the door was a small lobby with a reception desk. The room was mostly populated by middle aged, burly Nordic men, carrying rifles and looking low on sleep. They eyed us suspiciously and I shifted in discomfort. They had a haunted look I didn't like. They seemed to not like me in particular, staring me down. I tried to shrink and be inconspicuous. On person didn't fit the mold, and he was standing next to Nightwing. The man was in his late thirties by my estimate, taller and lanker than the others and wearing wire-rimmed glasses that stood out against his tanned skin. He wore a buttoned down blue shirt and slacks, and an ID badge clipped to his pocket.

Nightwing introduced us, "Dr. Rotinaj, Robin and Nova. He's the Leagues liaison here, under Director Myhrevik," he didn't trip on the name that would have left me tongue tied as we shook hands. "Would you explain what's been going on here since we lost contact?"

"Long or the short of it?" Dr. Rotinaj asked.

"From the beginning, if you think there's time." Dr. Rotinaj looked out the window. The sun was peaking up now, and he let out a sigh of relief.

"We have time. Come, we'll discuss it in my office." He opened a door to the bowels of the building, and a little boy, maybe age 9 ran out. He clutched at the leg of one of the men, who squeezed his shoulder firmly. They spoke in something I guessed was Nordic before the man got up. He picked up the boy and followed us through the door. The others stayed behind. The pair turned left and we went straight, stopping at a room maybe 7 doors down. Each wall inside was plastered with printouts that had been scratched over in a language I didn't recognize either. Nightwing scanned the wall and nodded as if it held meaning to him. Really the only thing I could tell was that there were lists.

Dr. Rotinaj sat down into his desk chair as if his pants were magnetized. "A big storm blew through about a week ago," he started, staring down at his desk.

Nightwing turned away from his inspection of the walls. "I'm guessing there's more to the story."

"It was too fierce for this time of year, and knocked out some of the relays in the dish. When the storm died down after two days, we sent for our reserve repair men to get us back running as quickly as possible. None of them reported. The man on duty worked diligently all day but the next…"

"He didn't come back."

Dr. Rotinaj nodded. "I went into town to contact the police, but they said missing persons reports could only be filed after 48 hours without reasonable suspicion.

"The next day the police station was completely incased in ice."

"I didn't see a station on our way in," interrupted Robin.

"Second storm covered it up. Same storm in which we lost the school." The tension in the room rose a harmonic around me. Dr. Rotinaj said what we were all wondering. "It blew in suddenly during the school day. By the time anyone was able to reach the building…" he shook his head.

"Did they…?" I whispered despite myself, not wanting to say what I feared.

"From what part of the building we were able to unbury, we only found adults. They'd frozen to death in the storm." There was a moment of silence.

"You said from what you were able to unbury..." Nightwing prompted. It still wasn't clear how everyone had ended up barricaded in here.

"Rescue efforts continued all day, but as soon as the sun sank below the horizon, another storm came making it too dark to work. They hit the nursery school. I saw them leaving, as storm dissipated. Men in parkas and ski masks held parents and at harpoon point, HARPOON POINT FOR GOD'S SAKE!" Dr. Rotinaj's calm façade finally crumbled. He put his head in his hands, before taking off his glasses and rubbing the bridge of his nose. "I'm sorry, it's just… this has always been a quiet place. We'd gotten survival pretty well sorted out and now… this." I looked at the boys, who were stone faced and thinking hard. Someone needed to comfort the poor doc. I put a warm hand on his shoulder and he patted it appreciating. He continued, "After that the town, and what children were left, gathered here."

"These facilities aren't big enough for everyone in the town, even given the casualties," Nightwing noted.

"A lot of the men folk are still in the mines, probably blissfully unaware of all this. They bunker down during long periods of inclement weather."

"The ring of fire?" Robin asked.

"Oh, that… there's a heavy religious presence in the town. They think it's demons and ghosts, and that only a ring of fire will keep them at bay. It calms them down, and I figure we can take whatever defenses we can get. Each sunset there is a new storm. And only 75% of the people we send out for food come back. Until you people came, we were just hoping to make it through until the sun stopped setting completely and go from there."

"You didn't find any of the children in the building?" Nightwing asked for clarification.

"No," was his certain reply. "Statistically speaking it is impossible for a sample size of what we found to contain only adults if there were also high children casualties."

"So they must be somewhere else. Anywhere you can think of large enough to hold them all? Somewhere nearby?" Nightwing inquired.

"Not in town. I've only been here since last autumn, so I don't know the area well."

"Do you think the townspeople might know anything?"

"They might, but they are unlikely to talk to you. They did not like how you snuck in and the way her hair glows. They think it is witch craft."

"So I gathered," was his unenthused reply.

"You might try the Svalbard Museum. I seem to recall they have some decent history of the area."

"Thank you for your help."

"One more thing, try to be back by twilight. We do not have the resources to come looking for you if you are compromised, and we could use your protection. I'm… worried that whoever is behind this wants it…finished."

"Understood. We'll do our best."

I liked the museum, it was quaint. The entire thing was a single room, though a decent sized one. Maybe a standard gymnasium and a half. It was small enough that the lack of other people wasn't completely creepy. The walls did not meet at right angles either, giving a visual interest to the space, not that it needed it. Each wall sported either a timeline or a multi-dimensional display, and from the ceiling hung lights, bird silhouettes, and a planetarium star map. To the left of the entrance, the entire floor had been done in a rough blue finish to mimic water, and patches of tiled ice lead the viewer up to the display of an aquatic food chain. A stuffed seal dived after a specific fish in a school that surrounded it, all mounted on an artistic, cast iron scaffolding folded to mimic currents. Other fish like cod and salmon wandered below the seal, and a bird dived into the display.

The kids were unlikely to be underwater though, so I tried not to let my attention get too focused on the ecology. Whaling and migratory birds also seemed like they would not help elucidate where to search. Nightwing bee-lined to the bookcase that partitioned off a corner with glass walls looking off into fjord, and Robin took on geology and mining. I headed over to between the tundra exhibit and something labeled the Pomors. Though the tundra exhibit was unlikely to yield any useful information, the biologist in me couldn't help doing a quick skim. Turns out the island had its own variety of reindeer, as the shaggy stuffed examples demonstrated. Apparently they had shorter legs than their mainland cousins, and became very stout during winter between the thick fur and 10kg of added fat. They also did not travel in herds but rather alone or in groups of no more than 6. Due to the lack of large predators, they'd become quite docile.

I knew I shouldn't be reading about the reindeer so I turned to read up on the Pomors. Seemingly they were Russian hunters who in the 1700's had established the first year round hunting stations on the island. They were notable for their habit of erecting extremely large wooden crosses that acted both as navigational makers, grave sites, and protection from the supernatural. I supposed that up here you had to believe in divine protection to believe you'd survive. And according to Dr. Rotinaj, that superstitious history bled into the present. I read a bit more on the settlements, but apparently they had been abandoned in 1852. Even with the cold preventing rot, the storms of the area had to have destroyed the majority of the settlements by now, and they didn't seem able to hold the number of children missing in any case. No luck. Robin had joined Nightwings at the books, and I headed over to an exhibit labeled "Modern Times". Perhaps there was some facility we were unaware of just outside of town.

"I've got something," called Robin. "Couple of Russian settlements. Barentsburg is still active, Grumant was abandoned fifty-so years ago, and Pyramiden in 1998. Both were plenty large to hold the numbers we're looking at."

Nightwing held up a chart. "We flew over Grumant on the way here, Sphere would have alerted us if there were unexpected activity below. What about Pyramiden?"

Pyramiden was actually in the tourism section of modern times I was looking at. "I've got something on there," I added, "I'm not sure it's what we're looking for. It was abandoned recently enough that the infrastructure stayed intact. Says here it's basically a ghost town that attracts a lot of tourism. The "Tulip Hotel" actually hosts people during the summer months. Wait…there's an appended note" I read on. "last year the dam erected by Ark-tik-u-gol—" I tripped over the word, "broke and the town flooded, and five tourist were killed. It's been closed to the public since." I headed over to look at the map Nightwing had found.

"I think that's our place," said Robin his voice edge with disquiet. He held up a picture that had been out on a reading table. Kids played on a small playground, swinging on swings, sliding on slides, climbing on a jungle gym. The caption was in Russian.

"Kids Play in Pyramiden," Nightwing translated. "I don't like this." I agreed, the whole thing was just… no.

"But it's our best lead," finished Robin.

He led us outside, where Sphere was once again the SuperCycle.

Pyramiden was about thirty miles away, so it should have only taken fifteen minutes to get there. But the temperature decreased at a near exponential rate the closer we got, and the Supercycle was slowing down. We dipped, which made my stomach lurch. Nightwing took us down.

We all got out, but this time Sphere didn't curl back up. Nightwing took a peak underneath. "Frozen over," he muttered. "Nova, think you can warm her back up?"

I took my own look. "It will take a while, I don't want to break anything by heating things too fast."

"Understood."

"How fffar are we?" asked Robin.

"About two and a half miles southwest." He looked at me. "You comfortable staying here with Sphere and bringing her when she's back up? She should track to us." When I nodded he added, "Good, Robin and I will see if we can get eyes on the town, see if it's our target."

"Be good tttoo get moving," Robin shivered, jumping up and down a bit. They set off.

I watched them trek in a northerly direction until the windblown snow obscured their forms, before sliding under the cycle. I placed my hands on her underbelly and focused on releasing a slow, steady stream of heat. Predictably, my headache got worse as I worked, but I couldn't stop for more than a minute. The second I did, frost would creep back towards me. After a solid 21 minutes, the machinery above me began to rattle. Excited, I rolled out from underneath.

The cycle shuddered for another 45 seconds. And then curled up into a sphere. It gave two more shakes, and then went still. _Uh oh._ I laid a hand on the sphere's metal surface. It turned so that its red, glowing, circuit-looking piece that I'd always thought was an eye faced me. Then all of the panels did a sort of flip, and completely incased her and shaking me off. I put both hands on the new exterior and tried to feed it more heat. But this material resisted all thermal change. I knocked. Nothing happened.

"Sphere, don't do this to me…" I half pleaded, half worried to myself. I got no response. Seemingly I'd only given her enough to jump start and go into a hibernative state.

I tried not to let the creeping alarm invade the workspace of my head. _What now_. Did I go after Robin and Nightwing on my own? If I didn't now, they're trail would surely be obscured in the next few minutes. But what if something were to happen to Sphere while I was gone? She was our only way out.

I should stay. But what then? Should I start a fire to signal the boys? That might draw attention from the enemy if Pyramiden was in fact the correct location. Which might be good a good distraction. Unless it drew too much attention and got the two discovered and captured. And I'd have no way of knowing when ( _if_ ) they'd return. Food would eventually force me to venture away. I only had a few pieces of jerky in my pack, and that was only because I'd thrown them in as a joke, thinking one needed some dried meat on an artic expedition. I didn't even like jerky.

 _Relax_. _Nightwing and Robin have been doing this sort of thing for a long time. If there's nothing there and you don't catch up, they'll come back. I'm sure they have some way of tracking back. And if it is the right place, they can handle it. Better than if you were there even. Try and enjoy the landscape for a while. Worry when the time comes_.

I did that, and was almost successful at keeping the panic at bay. The barren landscape really was beautiful, with just a few skeletal shrubs accenting the rolling whiteness.

"Halllllllllllllloooooooooo," the wind moaned. I jumped and a shiver raced up my spine. I glanced left and right but saw nothing but whiteness. "Halllooooo." I squinted. This time I felt a presence from the north. Focusing my sight there I spotted the vague shape of a person. Sphere would be obviously out of place, and trying to move her would only attract attention. I hid myself behind a snow drift, wary of the fact that there might be others, and pulled a hood to cover my head out from my pack.

I kept an eye on the figure as it wandered in my direction. Suddenly it collapsed. "Hjelpe," it begged in a whimper. I cautiously crept towards it. When I got within a few feet I saw that it was an older woman, late forties to fifties, who had fallen. She was wearing a fur lined parka and gloves, but the light and cold had given her face an unhealthy blue tint. "Hjelpe," she called again. It sounded like help. I got a shoulder under her arm and pulled her behind a snow bank so we were out of the wind. She huddled in a fetal position when I let her go to collect some wood. I snapped off a few branches and put them in front of her. With my body between her and my tinder I lit the sticks and the fire sprang to life. She crept close to it, and I let her be silent for a bit. The firelight returned some of the color to her face, but it still seemed pale, even for someone of this latitude.

"Is there anything else I can get you?" I asked.

"Vann. Ah, you are American… water, if you could." Her accent was extremely mild once she switched to English, but the cold had rattled her enough that she hadn't realized my origins at once. I pulled out a water bottle from my pack and warmed it with my hands a bit before handing it over. She accepted gratefully and drank deeply despite its temperature. "Thank you, Lille."

"My name's actually N… Fia." I said giving her my true name.

"You misunderstand, lille means little one," She explained affectionately.

"Oh. What are you doing out here all alone?"

"I could ask the same of you." Despite her gentle tone her voice felt cold and desolate.

"Are you asking?"

She laughed, then coughed. "Clever jente. When you are rescued from an approaching storm, you do not ask why, you just thank the gods." At the mention of deities her mind seemed to wander off. There was no storm yet, but I trusted the local's sense of the weather far more than my own here.

"So… how?"

She refocused, "Barna!"

"A barn?" I asked confused. There were no buildings about, and this was certainly no place for a farm.

She shook her head and translated. "The children. They took the children. I was taken with too, but they did not pay attention to me. I escaped. They need to be saved. The children, must be saved." She shivered again. I subtly channeled more energy into the fire, though my reserves were low. The wind had picked up and the kicked up snow obscured my view of the sun, so I had no way to recharge at the moment.

"Who are you?" I asked.

"Maureen Connor, A teacher. At the school. When they came… to take the children… I wouldn't let them. I followed, but they caught me and dragged me along."

"So you know where the missing children are? Are they close?"

She focused in on me. "You know? Yes, yes of course, you must be here to help! Yes, they are in Pyramiden; it is an abandoned mining town."

"We guessed they might be there!" I exclaimed for her benefit. The poor thing looked devoid of light.

"There are more of you?" she queried.

"Yes, but they went ahead to scout."

"We must go. We must warn them."

"Warn them of what?"

"Warn them…" she drifted off like the snow and stared behind me. Another chill ran up my spine. I turned, and far in the distance saw a line of figures approaching. I probed them. All I felt was cold. Pure cold. In this sun-powered form the icy totality threatened to overwhelm me, when as a shade it might have been kin. I grabbed my power back from the fire and went to help up Ms. Connor. The warmth seemed to have revitalized her, as she got up without my offered hand. Together, we hurried through the snow, away from that unnatural, unmeltable mass.


	12. 12: Icy Ideology

Chapter 12

For an older woman, Ms. Connor was quite nimble in the snow. Every step I was hiking my knees out of the holes I punched through the thin ice on top of the deep snow, but she seemed to be able to stay on top. I asked her how she managed and she just replied, "Habit." Still, I was longer legged and our net paces were about even. I did not cast my awareness behind us, but after the first 14 minutes I stopped having the feeling of being followed. Despite that, there was an unnatural chill in the air that dug at me, both physically and mentally. I tried to start a conversation to keep my mind off it.

"Connor doesn't seem like a Nordic surname…" I started lamely.

"My father's father was Scottish, but the rest of my kin has always been here."

"You like being a teacher?"

No response.

"Ms. Connor?"

"… I did."

The cold I was feeling intensified so instead of letting it drop as would have been polite, I pressed on, trying to stoke my internal fires and drive off the cold with comradery. "Did? Have your students been… inattentive?"

"No, they are angels. Education is simply no longer worth anything."

I frowned. "Education is always worthwhile. It leads to better jobs, better lives." I thought education for education sake was worthwhile, but I felt the more concrete answer would be better received.

"A proper education is worth nothing, down in the mines."

"Surely they don't all end up there, not with you giving them the tools they need to do… whatever they want."

She didn't answer for 47 seconds. A long 47 seconds. "That is all they wish for, at this point, to be like their parents. Miners and wives." She seemed to focus on me, "You are not an old thing yourself. What has your story been that's brought you way out yonder?"

I didn't like the attention, so I gave a vague answer. "Would you believe I just wanted to help people?" I answered with what I liked to think wasn't remorse. It wasn't really the answer she was looking for, but it was the answer I was willing to give. She nodded.

"That's always how it starts." We lapsed into a more companionable silence, and the chill slackened a bit.

After eleven minutes of walking we crossed over a ridge and I finally saw buildings in the distance. "That it?" If it wasn't we were really lost.

"Yes, Pyramiden,"she spoke in the dreamy tones of the past.

"You sound like you know it well…" I hazard.

"When I was a little girl, my father would take my brother and me there during the summers sometimes. It was the most marvelous place. I had Russian friends who lived there all year long. We would run around the Crazy House for hours!"

"The Crazy House?" I asked confused.

"Yes, it was the housing for families. There was the London, where my father visited his friends, and the Paris with the bar and young women. Best of all though was the Cultural Palace."

"Tell me about it." I encouraged, wanting to be mentally transported to somewhere, or somewhen, more pleasant.

"It was the most amazing thing I had ever seen! You walked to a mosaic of the old Norse stories in all the colors of the aurora." She paused for a second in reverence. "I learned to love the written word in its library, and my brother would play on the basketball courts with his friends. And the ice cream café! Then the school's playground, we would play for hours. And then…" she lowered her voice into an almost school girlish whisper. "We would go warm up in the heated indoor pool." Clearly this was the luxury of luxuries to her.

"Sounds lovely right now," I supplied.

"Yes," she agreed, then added. "But it's all gone now." And I had the feeling she was talking about more than just the town.

"Do you know where in town everyone is being kept now?" I asked, trying to get her to focus away from her growing moroseness.

"No, we were being, sorted, processed, when I got away. But we cannot sneak everyone out that way; they will be there."

"The harpoon men?" I asked, remembering what Dr. Rotinaj had said.

"Harpoons? Who on earth told you that child?"

"Dr. Rotinaj." I answered, confused.

"Ah."

"You know him?"

"In such a small town you know everyone new. He is good at his job, but he is not made for this climate. He is always seeing things in the snow."

The fact that we had been given bad information worried me. True, that we hadn't even _thought_ we knew much meant that the boys would probably not be complacent. And they knew their work. But still I worried. Hopefully we would meet up with them soon.

"If you were talking to Dr. Rotinaj, you come from the League, yes?" Ms. Connor asked. When I nodded in more or less assent, she continued. "How did you know of our plight? Has communication been restored?"

"No, we came to see what we could do to fix it. This seemed more urgent, though."

"Yes, yes. But if you came for such purpose, are you prepared to rescue so many?"

I let the silence run for too long. "I'm very new at this, Ms. Connor. But my friends, Robin and Nightwing… they've been doing this sort of thing for a long time." I wish I could tell her how good they were, but I hadn't actually seen them in action myself, save for Robin when…. I didn't finish the thought.

"Only three of you…" she said to herself. "And no way to call for more." The wind picked up, making me shiver, and I couldn't tell what she thought about such a poor rescue attempt. I strengthened my resolve to help get her students back safely and prove I was worth something. "But please, lille, call me Maureen."

It was at that moment that the chill, the unmeltable chill, returned, stronger than ever. I swore under my breath as it pierced right through my layers, both fabric and flesh, straight into my bones and soul. We were still at least seven minutes from the town, and I had no idea where the guys were. Maureen saw my reaction.

"What is wrong?"

"Those things that were following us, they're back." I saw her look at the town, and do the same mental math about the distance.

"What should we do?" She beat me to the question, but I couldn't let her know that. Damn it was hard not being a civilian. I thought quickly.

"Maureen, do you think you could get back to the children?"

"Yes, what are you thinking?"

"Getting everyone out is going to take preparation, organization. I think the best thing you can do is get back to them and prepare them to go at the first opportunity. I'm not sure how many chances we will get, not without knowing what exactly we're up against."

"What about your companions?" She asked reasonably.

"If you find them, they will help organize the rescue. I'll do my best to keep the bad guys occupied." Did I seriously just say bad guys? Well, I guess it was as good a term as any for now. She knew what I meant anyways.

"You'll be okay?" _Hope so_.

"If you don't hear from me within the next two hours, I'd suggest working on a plan B. Assume I gave up and went to Bora Bora." She was sympathetic enough to at least smile at my attempted joke. I felt bad leaving her to fend for herself, putting her right back into enemy hands. Still, if these people went through all the trouble of getting the kids out here, death probably wasn't the ultimate motive.

Which made me wonder what _was_ the reason for all this. But the between the fire in by body and the ice on the wind, I didn't have enough mental energy to think through more than the next few minutes. That I was able to come up with even as piss poor a plan as I did still surprises me.

And there wasn't much time. What I can only describe as snow golems were forming themselves from the frozen wastes. They were about eight feet tall, bulkily built. They didn't have faces, just a blank smooth slate. No eyes, no glowing amulet chests, no real groin to speak of. No obvious weak spot. Typical. Plus they didn't walk so much as sail across the snow, which for whatever reason was extremely unsettling to watch. And the wind driven snow was still obscuring the sun, so what I had stored was all I was gonna have.

"If you're going to get going, I'd do it. I'll cover you." I said focusing on the golems, not looking back. I wanted to track her progress, but that was one too many things to do. Instead, I spread my arms out, flinging fuel out to either side. I flicked my fingers and whipped a wall of flame in about twenty five feet either direction. The flames were hot and an intense yellow, seemingly only strengthened by the rapidly melting snow, not hindered. I'd have to check for some alkali metal I was producing later, but that was a thought for another time.

The golems didn't like the fire, and seemed confused by it. But it only slowed their progress towards me, not halted it. These things wouldn't really melt, I was sure, but that didn't stop me from trying. I built up a ball of flame in my right hand and chucked it, giving it as much heat as I could manage. The fire to my right dimmed as my focus on it waned. My fire ball was caught by one of the golems, and though his hand melted off, it reformed as soon as the ball had hit the ground.

Shit. I grimaced and felt a sharp pain in my head. I resisted the urge to put my still aflame hand to my temple in an attempt to ease the pain. _Focus_.

Well, time to try something new. I looked behind me, and not seeing Maureen I reabsorbed the fire from the wall of cover. With an arching motion I built up a much smaller semi-circle of flame in front of me. The heat scraped at my frost-burned cheeks, but what did that mater? I needed the time it could give me. I took off my pack and looked for anything of use. Still had the jerky. Some woolen gloves I'd taken off when I'd lit the fire for Maureen, a spare set of shoe laces, toothbrush, toothpaste, clogged hair brush, spare clothes at the bottom. I forced myself not to grimace again.

I tied the hair brush to the shoe laces quick as I could and smeared the end with what fuel I could still secrete; the wall had taken a fair amount out of me and soon I'd need an external fuel source. Next I sucked up the fire from the wall and transferred it to the brush. I'd already used up about 25% of my borrowed power and I couldn't afford to keep anything that big up for long. Instead I swung my makeshift flaming flail fast as I could, making a circle of warm protection. The thing passed through the first golem, hissing as it sliced off an arm. I transitioned as neatly as I could, which is to say not very, to the next, this time hitting it in the leg. Next one I hit with a downward pass, actually cutting it in half. That felt good.

Unfortunately the two parts fell right back together and the completed golem kept advancing. They all did.

I thought, though, that I'd be able to hold them at bay for a little bit, at least long enough that I could be sure Maureen had made it to the relative safety of the enemy's camp.

I thought that until the snow under me started to shift. It threw me off balance and I fell into it. It started to creep up my arms. Without actually setting myself on fire I shunted heat into my extremities to pull myself free, but such control left me dizzy and disoriented, as did the smell of burning plastic from my brush which by now fully permeated the air. A golem grabbed me around my shoulders and heaved me up.

The snow, it had been snow. Moving snow, but snow. The golem, though made of snow, was intrinsically different. The sense of never ending cold I'd felt from them was a thousand fold worse by my physical contact. They were driven by more than just the lack of molecular movement; there was pain behind these monsters. A frozen heart that held their strings for what purpose I still didn't know. The iciness circled me and pulled tight like a garrote, biting into me like wire.

I screamed, and without meaning to there were flames on my breath. Just enough of the golem melted for me to slip out from under its arms.

And so I went to world's oldest fall back plan: run.

I ran, and ran. I don't run fast, I don't run well, but when something like that is on your tail, what you normally do doesn't really matter. Snow would rise up in walls and columns in front of me with the golems steadily ghosting behind.

I was being herded. _No, no!_ I started melting the obstacles in front of me, going anywhere but where they wanted. I losing flame at an alarming rate, but though the exertion made my eyes feel like icepicks were being stabbed at them from behind, the loss made me less sensitive to their freezing, terrifying aura. It was still strong, but it no longer seemed quite as foreign, quite as crushing, cutting.

Such a merry chase couldn't last for long, even under the influence of that wonderful hormone adrenaline. I veered slightly to my left, for what reason I didn't know. It felt warmer than any other direction and that was good enough for me in that particular moment.

And then the puppet master did what it should have done long before; all the snow around me became a solid sheet of ice. Any melting I could do would either make the whole thing slicker or mire me in a puddle of my making. I wasn't in the position to do either because on ice I'm like a house of cards. I went down, banging my knees as I slid, but for the most part protecting my head. At least some of my training had paid off.

Whoop. Dee. Do.

I know when I'm beat. I hate it, but I know it. And at least I hadn't felt malice from the things, maybe they wouldn't hurt me. _Yeah, right_. I tried to get myself upright so that I could at least face them with dignity. It's overrated, by a longshot, but if dignity is the last thing you have, you might as well keep it.

And that's when the worst thing that could have happened, happened. Now I knew why I'd been drawn to this direction. _STUPID STUPID STUPID STUPID. STUPID!_ Nightwing and Robin—both on skates that deployed from their boots to my total lack of surprise— flanked the golems and started to attack. They threw blinking birdarangs into two of the beasts each, and within a second, the devices exploded. Snow flew up into the air, but the presence dissipated not at all. The ice under them melted (I was surprised that anything so cold as this thing _could_ cause a melt) and they went sprawling into the golems like bowling balls into pins glued to the lane. Trained as they were they went right back up, flipping over golems, slashing with their skates with each kick. I might have enjoyed watching it if the snow falling from the first golem casualties hadn't started to descend on the whole scene. It clung to the heroes and to me, gathering as snow does. Soon it was too heavy for any of us to move at all.

 _I did this. They got caught because of me._ That was the last thought I was able to make before breathing under the weight of the snow was the only thing I could do.

The pile dragged us off to Pyramiden. I couldn't see anything specific through the snow, but I could feel shadows pass over us, which in such a landscape I had to assume were buildings. I couldn't hear anything, at all, except my labored breath. Snow has one of the most amazing sound dampening effects of any material I know of.

Eventually the pile stopped, in a building I was sure.

And then nothing happened.

And nothing.

And nothing.

It was almost peaceful really, until you remembered what was at stake.

I wanted to melt through the snow, to get out, to breathe, but this snow, coming from the golems, was still infused with that ice essence that defied all warmth. I'd end up burning myself if I wanted to make a dent in this thing.

But as it turned out, I didn't have to resort to such measures. After thirteen minutes, there was a sudden drop in the intensity of the force. A minute later, another. It kept dropping in fairly steep steps until the cold that surrounded us was nearly natural. I flexed my hands, shook, and pushed heat up through my back towards freedom. The surface of the pile came up so abruptly I wrenched my back a bit when I breached like a whale.

Panting, I pulled myself out. We were in a largish room with no windows, and based on the low height of the ceiling there must have been at least six feet of snow on the floor. It had to have been brought into the building, as I couldn't see any obvious holes in the ceiling. I crawled along, trying to feel out exactly where my fellows were. Robin was only a few meters to my left, and I steamed my hand through to him. Unfortunately, he was upside down and I grabbed a boot. I sent warmth into the younger boy, biting my lip with the effort to keep it to a manageable level, and pulled. I got him about half way out before I accidently melted the snow under me and lost my footing. I fell back, still holding Robin's foot, and I heard him yelp as my concentration on the heat slipped. It pulled him the rest of the way free though.

He was soaked, short hair plastered to his head like a helmet, but he wasn't shivering yet. I too was overly damp, now that I cared to notice.

"You okay?" I asked.

"Yeah, rather be too hot than too cold." I disagreed with him on that, but the important thing was I hadn't actually microwaved him. "Where's Nightwing?"

"Working on it," I panted, and pressed a cool hand against my forehead before resuming my search. NW wasn't far off either. This time when I went fishing I thankfully got a hand. I clasped it, again sending warmth down the connection. As soon as the snow loosened he was pulling himself out. His longer hair was actually dripping and contoured his mask, but he was smiling. He let go of my hand to get into a better position to kick his legs free, and I shivered with what I wanted to be cold, but was more likely fever. We were all wet, and though the room saved us from wind chill, such circumstances were a death sentence.

By unspoken consent we made our way over to the nearest wall. There were the tops of shelving or something sticking out of the snow over there we could sit on to get some reprieve from the snow. Robin's hair was already crispy, and mine I could tell was not far behind. Once we were more settled, Nightwing turned to me.

"Nova, do you think you can do anything about this?…" He shook his head and water went splattering. It was such a whimsical gesture under the circumstances, I almost laughed. Strangely enough he seemed… happy at our current predicament. More relaxed than I'd ever seen him in his official role, other than those moments on the rope course. I nodded, and held out a hand to each of them. They took them and I steamed the water off. It rose in a cloud and condensed on the ceiling, forming icicles. When I broke the connection I was down to maybe 10% power and nauseous, but we were dry. "Thanks." I heard his smile, my eyes still closed. Then he got back to business. "What are you doing here? Where's Sphere?"

I caught them up as quickly as possible, passing on all I knew from Maureen and trying to convey what I felt from the snow golems, and why I hadn't gotten them out immediately. I finish up lamely… "I'm sorry… that I lead them right to you. I didn't mean to."

He was going to be furious; he had every right to be. Now we were all trapped, with no good means of getting help. If I had only known I could have… I didn't know what I could have done. I was only good as a space heater. I waited for the reproach.

"Don't worry about it." _What?_ "You needed help, you came to the team." When he said it that way it almost sounded reasonable… He shrugged, "We needed a way in anyways."

Robin, seeing my confusion added, "The best way to surprise your foe is to let him think he's got you under wraps."

"But—," I started to protest but was cut off.

"You get used to it," they said in unison.

"Would you do the honors?" Nightwing asked Robin. The younger hero jumped over towards the door. I hadn't noticed, but it swung inwards and there was a break in the snow around it. He pulled on the nob, and not surprisingly it was locked. But not frozen, which was a bit of a surprise.

"Toss me one of those icicles would you?" Robin queried. I saw an eyebrow raise over Nightwing's mask.

"Really?"

"Why not?" Robin too seemed more relaxed than he had been on my previous encounters with him. Clearly he drew a lot of confidence from his mentor. I hoped he'd be able to generate more of it on his own someday, but he was still young.

Nightwing chuckled, reached over me and snapped one off the ceiling, flicking it over in a single motion. Robin deftly caught it and used it to pick the lock.

"Not as fast as with ours, but I told you it was doable." Robin smirked. He got a face full of snow as a response, which he shook off before it could melt. He opened the door. "Shall we?" Nightwing too leapt to the clear spot, but though I wanted to do the same, I snake slid over the top of the snow.

"You okay?" Nightwing asked.

"Fine—" I started and fell forward. The icy presence was building exponentially now, and it pressed down at what little strength I had left. "It's gathering strength again," I forced out.

"How are your reserves?" Nightwing asked.

"Not good." I answered frustrated. Better to be honest and let him work with the truth than to let him count on me when he shouldn't.

"Okay. Robin and I will scout around, figure out what we are dealing with, and take care of it." He made it sound so easy. And I could tell he was only explaining for my benefit, normally he and Robin would be off right now. "Try to meet up with Maureen, see if anyone's hurt and do what you can for them. If you can get them out before this thing gets back to full strength, do." With no more instruction than that they were off.

After taking a breath to collect myself, I found my way out of the building. Now that I was in an actual position to see the architecture of the town, I was less than impressed. Everything was just a large rectangle, except for the building I'd come from which looked like a factory of some sort, you know with the smoke stacks. I supposed with all the amenities Maureen had described to me, people were spending most of their times indoors and not looking at the buildings.

Maureen had also mentioned a playground, and I was a little curious as to what they looked like back then. And with the photo we'd found in the museum, somehow I thought I actually might find kids there. I knew it was stupid, but I didn't have any better ideas. I wandered about a bit until I found a map, and, against all probability, it was in English![1] It seemed as though we had been stored in the power plant on the easternmost outskirts of town. The school was pretty much in the town's center, so I headed west. There wasn't much cover between this enclave and the town, but I kept off the road to try to stay inconspicuous.

Before long I could see my targeted building. I walked around back, keeping low. Sure enough, I could see the playset.

And there were people one it!

I rushed forward, but as I approached I couldn't feel any life and realized that these were statues erected for tourism. The company must have thought it would be a good idea to show how people lived in the times when this place was inhabited, but I just found it creepy. Still, I found myself drawn closer. Could one push the little boy on the swingset, or grab the hand of the children on the jungle gym?

The statues were pure white, which seemed off to me. True, in tourism season white would stand out against the grass, but now they just seemed like ghosts. I wondered what they were made of. Marble would dissolve quickly so close to the coast, and the freezing thawing couldn't be good for it either. But the detail really was perfect.

 _Oh no._

I'd been right the first time. It was the kids we were looking for. But they were frozen solid. I felt as frozen as they were with shock. Eternity would have claimed me, if not for an emotional surge I felt to my left. Something was happening to a large number of people. There was still hope for some of them.

I made my way towards the source of the disturbance, but the wind picked up fiercer than ever. It was practically galing now. Even though I didn't think I had more than 500 yards to go, it took a solid eight minutes. The building was the hospital, as far as I could remember from the map, pulled back a bit from the main square. I could still pick of the distress of those inside, but it was less now, whatever happened had mostly passed.

Through the first door I saw nothing. I jogged down the halls and didn't see anyone at first, though I check in every room coming off of the main hall. The second floor was more promising. Here was a ward, and people huddled as far away from the door as they could manage, maybe half of the people I believed to be missing. It was spookily quiet. Not the calm quite of the snow but the hard silence of ice. Older kids formed nodes around which younger kids clustered, and there were only three adults.

No one even looked up when I came in.

"Hey." I started lamely, trying to get their attention. Most of the kids didn't bother to move, but adults did. There were two men and a woman, and one of the men motioned me forward with one hand, his finger to his mouth with the other. I didn't see Maureen.

"You are to help?" Asked the man who'd motioned me over. I took several seconds to answer because I had a hard time understanding him through his accent and thick beard.

"Yes." I hadn't seen anything in the way of guards, maybe I could get this lot away from town. _And into the tundra? Great idea._ _They need some hope, some attempt, or they're going to lose the will to try soon._ "Where are the rest of you?" The man I was talking to me tried to answer, but his female companion put a hand over his mouth. The other man said:

"Gone."

With that one word I knew they had no expectations of rescuing the other kids. I didn't know if they knew the fate of their children, but telling them would be of no help at all. These were hardened people, and right now they were focused on survival. I looked at the man who had tried to speak. His eyes were full of pain when he looked down at the floor and nodded. "Can you all move?" I asked?

The woman pointed out the ice shackle around her ankle and I saw that everyone had one. I got to work melting them, biting my lip. I was so close to being free from this form it was a struggle not to just let it out. Yes, I felt better, freer, than when I was fully charged. But when I was full of light, there was no pretense that my nature should be dominant; now there was and it wasn't the time or place. Fire was what was necessary now. These people needed the warmth and heat.

At first the adults pulled away, frightened of that which they could not explain, and no wonder after their experience. They adjusted quickly though, resilient as anyone who lived in such a climate. The children didn't even respond. I hoped the town had a good shrink.

"Bjorn will get mining machine to move," said the woman. I guess they had had the time to come up with an escape plan. Thank goodness as I'd just been planning on running and hoping. This was much better.

I nodded. "I'll see you all out." The adults gathered the children, speaking to them mostly in Norwegian I assumed. I lead the way out of the building and held the door as the people filed past. Bjorn led, the woman was in the middle, and the other man in the rear. I stayed in back, looking for signs of the snow golems, or their master. The air was now still, and eerily so after the howling from my way to the hospital.

We made it to 'mining machine' without incident. To my shock it was a steam engine. "Everything uses the coal they mined," explained the woman as Bjorn tinkered; she seemed to have the best grasp of English. I imagined they didn't have to use it all that often. Bjorn motioned me over.

"Light?" He requested. I made a small fire ball and he looked into a last few crevices. Satisfied, he said, "Light." I stared at him, confused, and he pointed at the place where the coal was to burn. _Ah._ I lit it up and the engine roared. It was uncomfortably loud after the silence. This place really liked to mess with your ears. Bjorn stayed in the cab of the transport and the woman started to load up the children. Soon there was a fuss in the back and she went in to settle it. She motioned me to load kids in with the other man. We did so, until it was just us left. The man went around to the cab, presumably to tell Bjorn we were about to leave. Then he returned to the back.

"After you," I offered. He shook his head.

"How find us?" He asked in his imperfect English. He asked urgently, as if his life depended on the answer.

"Your heat," I said, knowing a more detailed answer would not be understood.

"My Irene. My daughter." He spoke choppily, and it wasn't just his English.

"Was she taken just before I got there?" I guessed. He nodded. "Go, I'll find her, I promise."

"I come." He said fiercely, and that was the end of that. The transport started to move off at a slow but insistent pace.

"Do you have something of hers? It will help me find her." I could see him process, and then he brought out a small, silver bracelet. Based on its size the girl couldn't have been much older than four or five. I took it from him. It was the first warm thing I'd encountered on this expedition. "She's alive!" I exclaimed, and immediately regretted insinuating that I hadn't believed it. The father was stoic, but I could feel just the ripples of relief off of him. I closed my eyes and turned towards the warmth, letting the bracelet guide me.

We were led back into town, to one of the housing buildings. I'd detoured around the school and its morbid playground for his sake. He was unhappy that I'd stopped, but I wasn't sure where to go now that we were in the building. I knew she was upstairs somewhere, but I couldn't take the direct path. I pointed up. He nodded, and started to open doors. Most were abandoned rooms with furniture. One had a stuffed goat. I suppressed a hysterical laugh, it was just too ridiculous. In the corner we found a stair, and headed up. Not high enough. Up again. I could tell there were people beyond these doors, and there was ice lining all the ceilings now, making the building feel like a cave.

A heat source flared and froze. The father could feel it too, and looked at me urgently, but had the sense to keep quite. I knew that he wouldn't help me get the others out until his daughter was safe, but I was scared. The presence was so strong here, I couldn't pin point it. For all I knew we could be walking straight to it. It was interfering with my ability to find Irene too. I held out my hand to the father, and he gave me his. The connection to the girl strengthened and I could feel it like a line leading to the penultimate door on the right. The doorknob stuck to my skin, tearing apart my palm as I opened it. The room was a child's room, with faded pinks and lace. There was a small bed, and dresser, and toys on the floor, but not time for a close inspection.

"FAR!" was the exclamation of joy from a little voice inside. I didn't need to speak the language to know what that meant. He pushed passed me, knocking me inside the door to get to her. He scooped her up and held her close, half laughing half sobbing. She put her small arms around his neck and buried her face into his shoulder and he kissed the top of her head.

"Perfect," said a voice behind me, and a wave of cold washed in where I had been standing. It swept over the reunited family and preserved them like that, eternally. I still held the bracelet and I felt the moment crystalize. The life was sucked out of them, and I got caught in the backdraft. As I fell, I felt my own limbs cracking, not quite made of ice. Whether it was my position or my power, I'll never know. I saw the figure on the other side of the doorway though I couldn't move.

Blue, a pale, pale blue. The color of the dead. And white, ragged hair. They eyes were softer than I'd expected, broken. And there were tear tracks down the figure's cheeks.

"Let me tend to the rest of the children, and then I'll come back to save you too, poor thing," said she said to me sympathetically. It was Maureen. But that wasn't the name that whispered through my mind.

 _Permafrost._

* * *

[1] .


	13. 13: Frozen Finish

**A.N.** _Hey everyone, thanks again for the continued support. If you are still enjoying, please know I really enjoy getting feedback in reviews and/or messages. Suggestions, compliments, ideas, constructive criticisms: all are welcome. If you haven't already and you like my story, favorite-ing and following just make my day. For those of you who have been following since the first version, I've done the most tweaking on the end of this chapter, which in the previous version was Ch 15 I think? Completely new stuff coming in Ch 15 and I have up to Ch 18 written (still getting minor edits). Got a few ideas for where to go next, but not sure which one I'm going to go with._

 _Anyways, hope you enjoy this latest installment!_

Chapter 13

 _No._ How could I have been so wrong? I thought she cared about her students. Was she even actually a teacher? She seemed so genuine. Even just now, it just seemed like she wanted to make things as good as she could for those around her. It was just that her concept of how to do this was… perverse. I couldn't begin to imagine what had led her to this point, and I likely never would. Looking back I half wish that were true.

I struggled to rise, but my muscles were like slush. I felt another surge in Permafrost's force that quickly fell, accompanied by a person's presence disappearing. Now I understood why I'd been able to get us out of the snow pile; she'd been freezing a different batch of people, and losing power in doing it. Maybe that batch was the one I'd seen on the playground. I wondered at the fact that she hadn't ended me yet as well. Ultimately I had to take her at her word; she was tending to _her_ children first.

Hopefully this meant Robin and Nightwing would be okay. I tried to ignore what was going on in each subsequent room around me; I could do nothing until Permafrost ran low on power. Instead I tried to find my comrades. The word seemed right in such a setting. Stretching out my senses I hunted for a familiar presence.

There. On the northwestern most edge of town was Nightwing. I could tell he was focused, hyper focused, tense, but not particularly concerned. Where was Robin? I concentrated. He was there too, I just couldn't sense him as well, as his presence was less familiar to me. Strange, since I'd probably spent more time around him. Never mind that though, that they weren't frozen which was the important thing.

Permafrost froze another person, lost strength, and I felt a flash of satisfaction from the guys. I guessed that a golem had gone down as a consequence of Permafrost's efforts, but how were they to know that? With each subsequent drop in energy, the boys got closer to the town. The dips became less and less frequent, and thankfully I was not the only life still left in the building.

The boys had reached the cultural center, or there abouts. I felt them suck in breath, that didn't come out. Shock, fear, outrage, but mostly horror from both boys in equal measure. If the playground was any sampling, Permafrost had staged her victims in an activity of childhood pleasure. I could tell Robin lashed out in frustration, and then been calmed by Nightwing. Nightwing was just as disturbed, but his years of experience kept him collected.

I could move my fingers now, and I made a tugging gesture at my line with them, the physical motion reinforcing my intent. Robin was too preoccupied to feel such a weak attempt, but Nightwing noticed something and they headed my way. In the mean time I tried to get moving. I still had a bit of power left, but the cold in my joints wasn't the sort that could be shooed away by warmth. Probably for the best since I'd likely need it _if_ I got out.

Permafrost's power was growing again. Where did it all come from? And beyond all reason I heard… laughter from below. Were they… were they playing? How she made the children who had been so scared when I'd found them forget their situation and play I hadn't a clue. I had to do something. With a wretch I pulled myself upright and stumbled downstairs.

The sounds came from a room Irene's father and I hadn't opened. I staggered to the door and inside saw the kids running around. Permafrost was smiling and chasing after them, her hands surrounded by a blue light a few shades deeper than her skin. The kids seemed completely unaware of this and were looking over their shoulders with grins as she neared them.

She caught one who giggled. "Tag," she smiled and the child froze. I was too stunned, and too tired to move. Could the kids possibly be _enjoying_ this? She was about to catch another of the maybe 12 kids left, five already having been solidified. I turned away, unable to move and unable to watch.

A window crashed and a black blur scooped the child out of harm's way, leaving only a smoke cloud behind.

"I don't think this is how you play freeze tag," said Nightwing. And then again, in Norwegian. The child, who had been struggling, laughed.

Permafrost scowled, and said something in the same language. The child looked back and forth between the two. All the other kids were still running around, as if nothing had happened. Permafrost angrily snapped at Nightwing, but I didn't understand what she was saying. Nightwing kept her attention, and I saw Robin slip in from an open window. He caught the kids that came his way, holding his hand over their mouths when they resisted. He touched a spot on their necks and they slumped down. Robin lifted them out the window.

I never did find out what Nightwing was saying to keep Permafrost occupied, or what she said to him, only that he was saying them in very reasonable, even tones. What I did find was myself helping Robin load children onto a sled they'd acquired outside.

There were just two moving kids now, plus the one Nightwing had on his hip, who was now sucking her thumb complacently. But these two were staying in Permafrost's line of sight. Robin motioned that he would herd them my way, and moved across the room.

But Permafrost saw Robin's intent.

And she went ballistic.

She started screaming in her native tongue and icy wind whipped around the room in front of her. The two remaining kids were instantly frozen by the blast but Robin jumped over it, as did Nightwing. She lost sight of anything but Robin, held her hands over her head and whipped a column of snowflakes at him. The floor had turned to an ice rink, and Robin was skating away from the blasts. Nightwing caught my attention with a whistle, and tossed the kid he still held to me after sedating it as Robin had been doing. Because I wasn't thinking about it I actually managed to catch the child, and lower her out the window.

Permafrost was still ranting. I heard Robin say, "I wasn't forced into this life, I chose it!" but it was clear she could tell it wasn't the complete truth. "You need to 'Let it go!'" he shouted, with just a hint of the song in his voice.

She heard that hint, and as bad as she had been, the Frozen reference sent her to a new level. The temperature of the room dropped a solid 20 degrees, and it had already been subzero. Fahrenheit. I felt like I'd been punched from _inside_ my lungs and gasped. Robin did too, but Nightwing had already covered his mouth with a facemask from his suit. He tossed some more explosive birdarangs at her feet, but they froze without exploding.

Robin was up again, and skating away. Permafrost didn't have skates, but was moving more smoothly on the uneven ice than her quarry. She was crying again, and the tears were freezing in sharp daggers as they tried to fall from her cheeks. Her ranting sounded different now. More childish. I heard the word "Far" over and over in her sobs, and felt daggers of grief.

Running wasn't working. Robin stopped to face her, but as she approached, Nightwing knocked her away with his half-staff. It stuck to her, and he was forced to let go as ice crept up it towards him.

"No, she wants you! Best way to keep her off balance is to keep away." He was right; despite his assault, Permafrost still only had eyes for Robin. "I'll figure out something, just don't let her close."

Robin nodded but didn't entirely comply quietly. "Why does she want me?" He asked. "I can't catch everything she's saying."

"Something about being stolen. I couldn't get her to makes sense even when she _was_ talking." And because he was Nightwing he had to add, "I agree with her though, that the Frozen thing was taking it too far. It's overdone." All this exchange happened as they evaded her icy shots.

I felt useless. I was still having trouble breathing. I coughed, and clenched my fists in frustration that I was unable to help.

Permafrost was getting more erratic now, and icicles were rising from the floor and walls, ready to spear anyone who fell. They weren't just encroaching on us; they were headed to her as well.

Robin's skate caught on a newly forming spur and he sprawled. The skate broke and the shard sliced him in the face. Permafrost had him in her sights.

I didn't think. As if I were underwater, I pushed off the wall and slid to intercept. I jammed my foot into an icicle to stop my momentum and held my hands, palms towards her. I gathered the last of my flame to defend against what was about to come. It was a marginally better defense than a human body.

The fire and ice crashed together, her grief fueling her blast, my terror strengthening mine. I wasn't even close to a match, and soon I'd be completely overwhelmed.

So I followed my instincts and did the only thing I could think of.

I mentally punched a hole in the flaming defense, letting the icy blast hit me, hit my dark center.

It didn't hurt.

Not more than being me normally did.

It had the same flavor, the same comforting texture as the loneliness I lived with. The physical world faded from my senses, and all that was left was the darkness in which I lived and loved. Darkness, greeting a cousin of cold. That's where Maureen was, where she'd gotten her strength, from this nothingness at the end of sanity. She'd been slowly slipping there for a long, long time. I saw her now as a child of no more than eight, who she had been the last time she'd truly felt warmth.

Visions came to me. Her birthday, rosy candles, a father beaming, an older brother ruffling her hair.

Her brother on the phone, face too tight. She tugs at his sleeve and he pushes her off.

The hospital, her father still with that eternal smell of coal, trying to smile, and grimacing. Her, grabbing his hand, and not having him squeeze it back. He shakily lifts his other arm and covers her hand with his good one.

He brother in a hard hat, descending into the abyss. She begs him not to go, but he smiles sadly and says he must. Each day he came back to her, but each day he left a little more of himself in the mine. Less playing, less hugging. He never reads her stories anymore.

Her father, lying in bed. She would help him, lovingly, tenderly, and he, always encouraging her, promising that her brother was fine.

She grew. Her male friends leaving school one by one for the mine, her girlfriends becoming more and more remote, marrying, having kids of their own to care for.

And then the day that her brother didn't come back up. Nor eight others she knew.

It nearly broke her completely then. But she still had her father.

"You can change this, lille, if it hurts you so." And she believed him, wanted so badly to make him proud. So she became a teacher.

At first she saw a reflection of light for the first time in years. Smiling, young, innocent faces, ready to learn about the world outside this tiny town. She could set them free.

But they never left. Just like her friends, they became miners and wives, miners and wives. Occasionally one would become a dentist, or a store owner, but business was a hard life in this small town. Less deadly on the body, but no less so on the mind.

Still, she smiled and brought home stories of the lille to her father. It made him laugh, rough and comforting like firewood, and it was this that she truly lived for.

She held his hand as he coughed, coal dust still rotting his lungs though he'd been out of the mines for forty years. She held it as he gasped, as she tried to give him water. He stopped breathing. She had run out into the barren wastes of winter, willing herself to follow her beloved father. She would have been awed if she had not been so torn apart when the Norse gods Skadi and Ull appeared to her. They knew her plight, they knew her pain, and they took pity on her. They granted her the power to preserve, the power to numb. She would freeze for all eternally the childhoods she saw stolen year after year, save them from fate. She'd frozen her father and put him before the statue of Lenin here in Pyramiden where he could rest in reverence.

And then she's planned. She planned how to save as many of her lille as possible, them and their families if she could. And she was so close. She couldn't understand why I was trying to stop her, now that she saw how damaged I was too.

Under all this, she just wanted the pain to stop, for her, and for those she loved without choice. Cold was the only thing that had numbed her, and now it wasn't enough: she needed more. She didn't know what to do, and the little eight-year-old that she had been asked me how I lived. I didn't have an answer for her.

Then the cold squeezed tighter, if that was even possible, and she was gone.

And so was I, lost in the memory that had been Maureen Connor.

I woke, and didn't care how long I'd been out because my headache was raging and fever simmering. Sadly, this was good news as it meant my guise was intact. But it hurt like a bitch, and so did my heart.

True, we knew each other's lives, but I'd coped better than she had. I'd embraced it and she'd fought it til the last. That's what you were supposed to do, fight the cold and dark, but look at how she'd come away. I shut my eyes against the world and just wanted to sink back to where I belonged.

"You up?" Nightwing asked.

I tried to answer but found my voice caught. I nodded and let the pain cross my face so I wouldn't have to answer.

He saw and let me sit for a minute, until I'd collected myself and was able to look around without cringing. I'd been moved to the corner, but I could still see Maureen's frozen form where it'd last been, except now it was neatly impaled on icicles. "What happened?" I managed to ask. In response he held up a small blue pelt. "Is that...?" I asked, recognizing it from our first spar.

"Sometimes the only way out is through." I was concerned he'd realized that's what I'd done with her, but no, he was referring to when I'd sped up the freezing of his arm.

"Robin?"

"Fine, catching up with the transport." I raised an eyebrow. "We saw the tracks. S' a good plan to get so many people back."

"Wasn't mine," I added honestly, and turned partially away. Something was sticking into my butt, and it wasn't ice. I pulled the thing out of my pocket: Irene's bracelet. I clenched it tightly and the charms bit into my palms. _Breathe_. Eyes closed against my will, and against the threat of tears. I'd still failed them.

Nightwing was saying something else, but stopped abruptly. I could feel his gaze on my hand.

"Arne said to keep it, if you still had it. In thanks."

My eyes flew open, as did my mouth to ask the question: you mean?

I didn't actually get the chance. "People started to thaw once she..." he pointed with a move of his head, casually, to the one remaining statue. I sighed in relief, expecting a reprieve. All I felt was crushed, and I realized how much weight I still carried.

I was mourning for Maureen.

I managed to fake a smile for Nightwing's benefit, but I had no words. All I could do was cradle her hurt since she could no longer. "There's still one frozen person, an old man in front of Lenin's bust." I don't know if it was his maturity or the situation, but he didn't laugh at the word like most boys I'd known.

"He won't melt, he wasn't alive," I assured, deadly flat.

He let that sit for a moment, let me steady. Eventually he sat down next to me.

"Do you know who he was?"

"Her dad." I swallowed hard and didn't sniffle. The stuff running from my nose was _only_ from the cold.

"Permafrost, she was Maureen, wasn't she?" He asked for clarification, yet with an underlying softness unfitting for the murderess she would have been. I pressed my lips and nodded. "Want to talk about it?"

"Not particularly." I managed. He reached out as if to put his hand on mine, warm, strong, anchoring. I shied away.

"I'm sorry," he said, as if to apologize for almost touching me. But the apology was too quiet, to deprecating.

I was almost too wretched to ask, but… "What for?"

He looked up, started to say it was for almost touching me but stopped. "That this was your first mission. For a rookie…" He tailed off and shook his head in disbelief of what had become of what had promised to be a simple venture.

"No way for you to have known." I said mildly but reasonably, temporarily startled out of my gloom. The universe wasn't known for keeping such promise. Or really any.

"But I should have," he growled to himself. Then to me: "Or at least kept you back once it was clear what the real situation was."

"You needed the help; it wasn't like you could call for more." Of all the things bothering me at the moment, that I'd been out of my depth didn't even rank. But clearly this issue was near the top of his.

"I needed to take care of my team."

"As nice a sentiment as that is, it's not far from what she thought." My gaze was pulled over to the statue. I left unstated the conclusion of 'look where that led'.

"How do you know?" I didn't want to answer being once again in the grip of her loss, but he waited, patient as a cat. He deserved to understand, if it was possible to. I told him what I could, not really specifying how I knew. He accepted it as truth. By the time I finished he was looking down at his knees. "You couldn't have helped her any more, Nova."

I stared at him.

"You couldn't save her, not after all that. She'd been lost for a long time." I knew that, but hearing it from someone else, it, it made it real. How could he know? Well, he was good at inferring. But how could he know I needed to hear it? _Because he's a good person. Because he gets you_. _Not possible_. I looked down. "Villains are like that."

He couldn't know. He was just saying this because it was what you said, not because he meant it. I tensed and angry heat radiated off me. All this meant nothing anyways. "Nova, for all that you shouldn't have had to be here, you saved a lot of people. Focus on what you can do, not on what you can't." Sure I'd saved the kids from her, but not from the life she feared for them. "We don't always get a win," he said solemnly.

I was supposed to say something, but I didn't know what. There was nothing to say. My quiet worried him. "Nova," I didn't respond. He looped a finger in the bracelet I was still holding and tugged.

To my surprise, I couldn't let it go. No. Wouldn't. I felt a wave of satisfaction and understanding through the connection.

"Nova," he said again. I wish he'd stop saying the false name. He did. "Look at me." I did. His mask still hid his beautiful, deep blue eyes, but not their intensity, sincerity. He pulled the bracelet up to eye level, and my hand along with it. "This, this is a win," I looked at him, and the knowledge sank into my chest, displacing a portion of the desolation. I took a deep breath through my nose and anchored myself, came back from the brink a bit. He threw me a roguish smile as he saw me began to truly settle. I let out a little sigh of exasperation and pulled my hand—and the bracelet—back. I rose, really wishing he wouldn't do that and knowing he didn't realize that he was. It wasn't his fault that I couldn't do any more emotions today, couldn't deal with being crushed by icy boulders _and_ butterflies.

The transport took us back to town. Without Maureen temperatures settled back to their normal low twenties, positive this time. Sphere caught back up to us, and we stayed a few days in town. There was a service for those who had died the first day, and on the second Robin and Nightwing helped fix the satellite dish. I stayed out of the way, taking the opportunity to literally and figuratively let my hair, and my fever, down. Despite my desire for some solitude, I forced myself to be a little social and eat a meal with Arne and Irene. It was well enough, but Maureen's fatalism still skimmed under my surface and I worried for the little girl's future.

We said our goodbyes and left the fourth day.

I wish I could say that I wanted my next mission to be somewhere warm, but if I was really, really honest, I was going to miss the comfort of the cold.

"Hey, girl, I missed you," said Superboy with more tenderness than I'd ever heard in his voice. Nightwing and Robin had already vaulted out of their seats and I was carefully climbing down, but his words stopped me with one foot still on the step. Why on earth would he miss me? What had I done to warrant such warmth?

The truth of the situation became clear as the Supercycle pulled away from me, curled into sphere mode, and went to nudge him. He patted her affectionately. I carefully finished putting my foot on the floor.

"What? No kiss for us?" Nightwing mocked.

"It's good to have you back," said Superboy in normal tones with just a hint of sourness peeking through. Nightwing walked over and they did one of those hi-fives that turns into a hand clasp and shake, the sort that only guys do. Superboy nodded at Robin, and vaguely included me as an afterthought. Honestly it was a relief to have things normal. "Quite the trouble you managed to get into for a quick fix job."

"Tell me about it," said Nightwing, rubbing his face with is palm.

"If I never fight another ice themed villain it will be too soon," Robin bemoaned.

"Sorry, k—" I could just hear the edge of the 'kid' Superboy cut off. "—Freeze is the only one that's accounted for." His fingers tensed with the spite he wasn't letting out in his voice, and Sphere bumped him gently. He relaxed a bit and pet her again.

"They'll turn up eventually, they always do," said Nightwing with a resigned sigh.

"Speaking of turning up…" Superboy turned to Nightwing.

Not a single muscle moved in Nightwing's carefully controlled frame, but all the sudden I had the impression that Superboy had handed him a lead-laden vest. "How much did I miss?" Outwardly his voice was energized, focused, but all I felt off of him was weariness. The dissonance was uncomfortable.

"Nothing urgent, but you've got a stack." They left in conversation about people I didn't know.

I looked at Robin. He shrugged. "I got homework. And limited time to come up with this week's excuse," the last was more to himself. He zeta'd away.

Home or not? My stomach answered for me. The jerky remained uneaten in my pack and as far as I was concerned it could stay there forever. Kitchen first then.

I paused by the door, listening with my ears and my awareness for anyone inside. My craving for some quiet after so much time around people was stronger than my craving for food. Fortune was with me and no one was about.

Opening the fridge I scanned for something easy. There were lots of left overs all labeled with the name of the individuals who owned them. I crouched to better see the bottom shelf of communal food. Some sprouting onions, some deli meats, block of pepper jack cheese, some wraps, bread (yeah, I'm not really sure why that was kept in the fridge), few eggs and some two cartons of milk. I pulled out the onions, some sliced chicken breast, the cheese, a wrap, and the two cartons of milk. I shook both. One sloshed freely, the other was half full but not with liquid. I considered tossing it, but it wasn't mine, and there was the possibility that it was being used for something other than milk. I wasn't going to open it to find out.

Next I got out a pan and some olive oil. I opened a drawer looking for the cheese grater, found some spatulas and a marker. At first I took out a spatula, then upon second thought returned it and took out the marker instead. I wrote "Yogurt?" on the questionable milk carton and returned it to the fridge and the marker to a pencil cup on the coffee table. The next drawer did hold the grater.

I proceeded to make myself quesadilla and looked around for some cocoa. I didn't find any, but one of the cabinets was locked with a scanner. On closer inspection it read— Garfield Logan, one entry per day. Had to be sweets. I wanted my cocoa so I put my hand up to the mechanism. It didn't read it, but with a twitch of my fingers the mechanism fried. Let the boy have some sweets if he found this before it was fixed. Fortuitously there was cocoa and I put three liberal spoonfuls into a mug that said "If at first you don't succeed… Skydiving is not for you," before pouring in the milk. I flipped the quesadilla up out of the pan and back down so the other side could crisp with minimal loss of filling. I gave a small smile at that, before spending a bit of my energy on heating the cocoa. I did so because I always scorched my mouth when I tried to use a microwave and for the excuse to get rid of a bit more sunlight, now that I was fairly confident it would be unneeded.

I slid the quesadilla onto a plate, cut it into slices and left the pan to cool on a different burner. The plate and mug I put onto the bar separating the kitchen from the common room before moving around to the other side and taking a seat myself. It wasn't a great quality, but it was comforting.

It was with a big bite full of cheesy goodness that the door opened. Karen came in, sniffed once, and made a beeline for the food. She grabbed a slice and took a delicate bite before I could protest.

"Mmmhph" I said around the mouthful.

She looked at me slightly startled and then smiled. "May I?" she asked. Like I had a choice at this point. I nodded and swallowed. "Not bad."

"Thanks?" I said, not quite sure how she meant it.

"Not a pepper fan." She explained. _Then why did you take my food?_ "Still, better than nuked pizza bites any day."

"That what you've been subsiding off of in the lab? I though you still had another few days of work?"

"Yes and I did. But the latest designs had a bit of a fit—nothing we needed you for—" she smiled, alluding to the last meltdown, "but it'll be a couple of days till maintenance fixes the cooling system, so I'm free for now. How'd the mission go?"

"Fine," I answered reflexively. Why had I said that? It hadn't been fine at all. A success, maybe, but not fine. I suppose it was because that was the answer one gave, because that was the answer that was expected. Karen didn't need to hear about Maureen, or at least her story. She'd probably hear more about the whole thing from Robin or Nightwing, who'd paint the incident in a much more positive light than I would ever be able to.

"Pretty hard not to be, such a cut and dry mission. Learn anything of note?"

Loss, heartbreak, the existence of gods, the death of innocence. "There's a subspecies of reindeer there that don't travel in herds and are pretty docile in the wild."

"I meant about Robin or Nightwing. You know, gossip?" she sighed exasperatedly. "How'd you learn that, you meet one?"

Whoops. "No, I read it in the museum."

"You'all were gone for a pretty long time, what, did you tour the whole island?"

"I saw more than I thought I would." I replied in all honestly.

"Perk of the gig," she rolled out offhandedly.

 _If you say so…._


	14. 14: Fire, Flowers, Failures, Friendship

Chapter 14

They were talking, but I couldn't hear them.

There was telepathic conversation going on. I was in the room with them, the lounge, but I wasn't a part of it. My previous encounter with Miss Martian had largely immunized me to her mental probes, and as a consequence I didn't link up properly. The more time I spent around the Cave, trying to integrate myself, the more common I realized these conversations were. The group took them for granted. I'd told Megan I couldn't be linked up, if not why, but neither she nor anyone else ever seemed to remember. I'd given up trying to remind them. The concept defied consolidation to them as oil defied mixing with water.

I could tell by the looks and expressions that there was a conversation was going on, but as usual, I was out of the loop and mute. Instead I passed the time trying to guess what it might be about. I noted who was there, and who wasn't. Megan, Karen, Cassie, Robin, Beast Boy, Lagoon Boy. Notably absent was Batgirl, whose birthday was approaching. I inferred that the conversation was planning a surprise party or something in that vein. Everyone knew the Birds of Prey skimmed through footage of the Cave to keep tabs on everything, so surprises were hard to plan. But a telepathic conversation could not be recorded, I reasoned. I hoped I was wrong, as discussing a topic on which I had input around me but without me would be more hurtful than normal. Or maybe no one here thought I had an input. _Which is worse?_ I wondered without malice, _To be forgotten, or thought to be opinion-less_? They wouldn't have appreciated my suggestions anyways, and who was I to know what Barbra would like after such a short time?

Instead of dwelling on this I tried to study the decorative embellishments around the room, many of which seemed to be remnants of old missions. I say tried because in the silence I found myself unable to focus well because of the constant _tocktocktock_ -ing of a small traditional clock. It ran fast, so each _tock_ was just a hair before I expected it, which could only be described as grating. No one else would care, so I hadn't said anything.

—Tock. _Twitch…_

—Tock. _Twitch…_

—Tock. _Twitch…_

Cassie and Karen were nodding enthusiastically. Lagoon Boy looked dubious, but he always looked a little sour.

—Tock. _Twitch._

Why was I even here, listening to the clock from the corner of the room, looking in from the outside? It had been a partly cloudy day at home, homework was done, my room just seemed… empty. So I thought I'd come out to see who was about here, and maybe to do some reading in the Cave's fantastic library. Their fiction section left a little to be desired, but there were volumes on the history of the Justice League, the Team, their members and missions. It was the sort of thing that'd be good to know and that I couldn't get access to otherwise.

The front door at least had recognized me and let me in. I walked through the halls in the direction I sensed held people, which wound me up in the kitchen. At the time it'd just been Karen, Megan, and Beast Boy and the conversation had been aloud. They waved me in and I joined the conversation, but never properly got integrated and was thus jostled out when Cassie, Robin, and Lagoon Boy had arrived. That had been an hour ago… I should have left, I could have done it discretely…but I couldn't manage to get up. I was held in place like a rabbit facing a cobra, equal parts fear and fascination.

—Tock. _Twitch_.

The door slid open and everyone swiveled to see Nightwing enter.

"You got something for us?" Lagoon Boy asked with enthusiasm.

"Were you guys planning a party for Barbra without me?" He replied.

Karen muttered to herself. "How does he always know?"

"What's the story?" asked Robin without surprise.

Rather than answering, Nightwing did an about face and cocked his head over his shoulder, indicating the group should follow. Everyone trooped out after him in pairs or triplets. I trailed behind.

Not surprisingly he led the group to the room in which I had first trained. Superboy was already there along with Mal, and there were already several files up in the area. I saw pictures of a pale looking woman with red hair dressed in green who looked like she'd just been kicked out of Eden; a desiccated looking man in a black and yellow helmet; a black haired , pointy-eared wall of a man; what looked to be an albino gorilla with misshapen head wearing an ammo vest; and a green haired, white faced clown in a purple suit and tie.

"Anyone know what these guys got in common?" asked Nightwing of the room at large.

"They're all uuuuggg-ly?" cat called Beast Boy. Megan shot him a reproachful glance, causing him to answer more seriously. "They were all part of the Injustice League weren't they?"

"Right," nodded Nightwing.

Megan frowned at the pictures. "Why aren't Wotan and Count Vertigo up there?" The remaining members of the group, I assumed.

"Count Vertigo is still being held for high treason," answered Superboy gruffly.

"And Wotan's absence means that this isn't the Light's business." Mal added. I hadn't gotten to any mission logs about the Injustice League yet, but the Light was a highly intelligent, extremely powerful organization that had temporarily but successfully mind controlled the Justice League about four years ago along with many other plots I had yet to read up on.

"Which fits with what we know about their activities," concluded Nightwing. "These four were recently released from Belle Reve," he indicated the first four pictures, "and someone pulled strings to get Joker out of Arkham. These were picked up five minutes ago by satellite." He made a pulling gesture and three videos popped up. The left had the woman and the desiccated man in front of a large building complex. She was throwing seeds that sprouted as the man hit them with some sort of beam from his head, and already the building was covered and beginning to crumble. All I could see of the writing was -XCor-. The center video showed the pointy eared powerhouse skimming across the ocean at high speeds. The final panel had a hot air balloon with a clown face. "As far as our questioning could find out, only Count Vertigo and Wotan were aware of the Injustice League's role as a diversion for the Light. And this bunch, not exactly known for being other people's lackeys. Looks like they have some payback in mind."

"Good!" said Lagoon Boy, "let em."

"Poison Ivy and Atomic Skull at least, are damagin' a lot mo' than just Luthor's building. Think of all the people in there." Mal shot back stormily.

I had not been completely surprised in my reading to learn that Lex had confirmed association with the Light. He'd have dealings with anything powerful enough to manipulate and achieve his ends and so far he'd kept his hands clean, maintaining his public image. I felt no guilt at helping him specifically; his ends were pure even if his means were not particularly. Machiavelli would be proud. _No, he never asked you to hurt anyone. It was you who kil_ — I cut off the thought. Mal continued, "Black Adam's trajectory lands him in Vlatava, and their royal guard can't take something like him; who knows how many he'll kill before getting Vertigo."

"So we're helping the bad guys," Karen voice was annoyed but resigned.

"We're helping the people whose lives depend on it," answered Nightwing in complete agreement.

"So we take them down, send them back to Belle Reve. No sweat." Cassie punched her cupped hand for emphasis.

Nightwing pitched his voice to cryptic, "Not all of them,"

"What do you mean?" Beast Boy asked confused.

"We only know the whereabouts of the Light members we can't touch. The Joker's probable area of decent doesn't match up with any of them."

"You want to follow them, see if they get us a lead." That was Robin. Nightwing nodded. The Light had been fairly quiescent since their partially foiled assault on the Justice League, but no one doubted that meant they were cooking up something that would be harder to derail.

"Superboy, you, Cassie, and Karen are on Alpha squad. Take Sphere." Another sentient machine these guys had, one who'd apparently bonded with Superboy. "Intercept Black Adam and prevent him from attacking the Vlatavans. If he changes course, follow him, but don't let him engage locals. I'll take Beta with Robin and Beast Boy to track Joker and the Ultra-humanite. Miss Martian you've got gamma. Along with LexCorps' local security you should have no trouble disabling Poison Ivy and Atomic Skull. Mal—"

"—I kno', coordinate your movements from here."

"Neptune's Beard, why am I always on gamma?!" exclaimed La'gaan angrily. More sweetly he added to Miss Martian. "At least I get to work with you, Angel Fish." She gave him a bemused smile.

"Pack up, we leave in 5." Nightwing dismissed. Everyone wandered away with purpose except Nightwing and Mal. Mal was pulling up what seemed like surveillance all around him on far side of the holo-projector, while Nightwing was studying a map on the near side. From the back the map was mirror imaged, but even if I'd been looking at it head on, all the different colored and shaped points meant nothing to me. Maybe if I had more background on past missions I could connect the dots. Nightwing suddenly focused through the hologram and onto me. "Question?"

"Just… why us?"

"Our villains, not the Leagues'; our problem." he answered, interpreting my larger question. I nodded thanks, glad of my new insight into the organization and glad he hadn't seen my apprehension. I turned away to go to the bioship before I could do anything overly stupid.

"Hey," he called out. I turned, and cocked my head at him. "Good luck."

I smiled weakly at him, accepting both his luck and his insight, but already his eyes were focused back on the map, his lips pursed in concentration.

I wasn't worried about working in close proximity to my former benefactor's property. Lex played things close to the vest and would not repay past service and present help saving his branch by outing me to my new cohorts. Every measure I had of the man said he would not waste such an advantage so frivolously.

Besides, I had enough other things to worry about.

First, Lagoon Boy wouldn't stop muttering under his breath. That was until Miss Martian brought up the link and they started talking. Even though I couldn't hear anything, my resonance read it loud and clear. Their relationship didn't hold a candle to Karen and Mal's but it was still awkward as the third wheel no one realized was there. I felt like a peeper. Plus, there were clouds over Metropolis, so I'd have difficulty recharging if need be. And if that weren't enough, the weather was causing turbulence, which made me all the more jittery.

I forgot all my discomfort but the shivers of sun-induced fever as I spotted the jungle strangling the structure. Of the 8 stories I had counted when I saw the scene on video, I could now see only six. The bottom two were completely obscured by woody stalks, twining into the brickwork. I saw a few trapped occupants trying to climb down thrashing vines, their blood running down, feeding the plants. Rapidly growing thorns pierced their palms. Men in security uniforms were having no luck, either in taking down their assailants or in attacking the plants with chainsaws.

Miss Martian set the Bioship down and opened the hatch. The second Lagoon Boy was out of the ship he went into puffer mode and charged at Atomic Skull. Miss Marian flew out as well and headed towards Poison Ivy. I felt a slight mental pressure, and assumed it was instructions I couldn't hear. They seemed to have the bad guys covered… which meant I should help clear the building.

Having given up on the chainsaws, the security had brought out more firepower. And I do mean firepower. Flamethrowers were achieving what simple sharps could not, charring the climbers and halting their battery. This was an idea I could get behind. I focused on their devices and the size of the flame increased. Satisfied with that aid, I ran along the vines, smearing them with the propolis-like substance from my hand, and a ribbon of flame sprang up in my wake.

After an eighth of a mile sprint down the length of the complex, I began to wheeze. The flames I'd left behind sputtered with each of my pants. I cursed my lack of endurance, regretting that the buildings were too big for me to ignite all the invading strands individually. There were still people inside; enough flame to annihilate the plants would roast them alive.

Instead, I surveyed my surroundings to see if there was a way to get the civilians to safety. My attention was drawn to an ornately pained stain-glass wall, which I trotted over to at a more sedate pace despite the urgency riding me like a jockey. The glass prevented the vines from clinging and thus overwhelming this portion of the building, and several employees trapped behind the structure. Each panel was held in place by wooden supports. Though the plants climbed over what portions they could, their density was low enough that I could overcome them.

I flicked all my fingers out sharply, each one releasing a spark onto a column of wood. Flame began to nibble away at the bases. _Not good enough_. With a snarl I poured more of my borrowed energy into the flames, urging it to race and devour old wood and new alike.

A laser beam passed in front of me, piercing my concentration if not my flesh; the flame's coverage stabilized short of incineration. I looked in the direction the shot had come from, expecting to see the Atomic Skull blasting at me. A second shot flew over my shoulder, and I realized the source was a company guard.

"PUT THAT OUT!" He roared.

"There are people trapped in there! We need to get them out." I shouted back.

"Find another way!"

"Why?"

"Do you know how much that wall is worth? You're goninta shatter it!"

I couldn't believe it. He was worried about the building? "This is the best way to everyone out!"

"I get paid to protect the building, not the people. 're easier to replace than the glass." Outraged boiled up from my core through the solar energy I was holding. My palms steamed as I prepared to blast this insensitive, obstructive waste of life so I could get back to saving people who might deserve it.

Suddenly there was a push at my consciousness. Before I had time to decipher it, a vine two feet in diameter slammed into me. It wrapped around me and bashed me into Lagoon Boy, who was held by his own set of vegetative restraints. My concentration slipped again and the flame I'd intended for the guard shot out of my hands as I braced for another impact. His vine took the brunt of flame, but it would not be long before both plant and person alike went up in smoke.

Panic flooded my senses, but it wasn't mine. It was Miss Martian's. The same as it had been the last time I'd endangered her loved one.

Without a thought I forced out fire from every surface that touched the vine. The plant recoiled and dropped me like a hot potato onto the broken concrete of the plaza. I scrambled up and shot flame at the base of Lagoon Boy's prison, and it likewise dropped its cargo. One hand on his scaly skin was enough to douse the flames that had just reached him. He'd be singed, but not damaged.

"Neptune's Beard! Whose side are you on?" He spat, before a beam from Atomic Skull knocked him away. _I don't know_ …

A triumphant cry drew my attention to Poison Ivy, who reached towards some object cradled by one of her creations. Atomic Skull heard as well and headed her direction, that of the woodlands on the far side of the building complex. In the city we stood a chance, in her turf, none. Neither Lagoon Boy nor Miss Martian were in a position to cut them off.

I sneezed, but gathered myself to try to launch a spark onto the bed of vines that lay between the villains and their exit. With a snap the ember flew and…

 **BOOM** **.**

The air between us ignited and expanded in rapid combustion. I was enough on the edge of the blast radius to have sufficient time to rein in the flames, keep them from enveloping the other people in the area. But the fire had been connected to me and had drawn out most of my reserves of sunlight. My head began to pound in time with my still ringing ears.

The ride back was quiet. Uncomfortably quiet. Sharply quiet. A silence that could slice even the most stoic of monks.

How could I have been so stupid? I knew about those, knew that any flammable material with high surface area would rapidly combust. I even had known the pollen was there; my body had warned me with a sneeze and I hadn't listened. Even as the hard use of my charge pounded at my temples, I pounded at my psyche. _Idiot. Stupid idiot_. And I wasn't yet considering almost frying fish boy.

The tension in the ship broke with the snap of a whip.

"You let them escape! You practically HELPED them escape!" Lagoon Boy spun around in his chair, red fly-like eyes staring at me with fury. "What were you thinking?!" _I wasn't._ "How could even you think a Neptune forsaken EXPLOSION could _ever_ help us?" _I didn't mean..._ I looked away from his accusation. Miss Martian was looking straight ahead, seemingly focused on flying.

"And then there's the fact that you nearly lit me on fire!" He raged. "You damaged your own team mates more than the enemy! If you had _listened_ to M'gann you might have, I don't know, actually done some good!" Something in me protested the unfairness of this, but I said nothing, merely looking down in shame. As the commanding officer, it was Miss Martian's place to reprimand me. But she agreed with Lagoon Boy, and didn't know what more she could add without seeming to defend me. And I didn't deserve defending, especially by her, especially after what I did.

"You're not even going to say anything, are you?" What was there to say? "Typical." He huffed, before lapsing back into rough, edgy, wordlessness.

He was right. He was right. I was a menace. No matter what I was a danger to this Team. How long before I ended up getting another of them killed? My eyes, still downcast, focused on the scrapes on my knees and palms from the fall, which hadn't been from high enough to do serious damage. Of its own accord, my gaze wandered listlessly onto my forearms. They were an angry, shiny red; I'd burned them at some point. Probably when I'd shaken loose of the vine.

It didn't hurt right now. All I felt was the cold of shame as strong as my fever, the throbbing of my skull, and the aching of my spirit.

Back in the hanger of the Cave, I was the first one out, anxious to escape the justified accusations of my traveling companions. I immediately spotted Karen with Mal near a panel of screens. Apparently they had come to check in with us new arrivals, leaving the normal command center for now. Superboy and Wonder Girl were noticeably absent, but Karen seemed in good health and unconcerned. Looking behind her, I saw the missing two figures on video, escorting Black Adam into what appeared to be a prison, possibly Belle Reve again? It didn't seem like Beta Squad had returned yet.

I stepped to the side of the ramp, making way for Miss Martian and Lagoon Boy, to take my rightful place in the back. Both went for the two residents, and I realized another telepathic conversation was going on. I looked at Karen, and Mal, wondering if their looks would be of greeting or shame. Possibly embarrassment for bringing me in in the first place. But neither of them looked my way at all. I waited a beat. Then another.

…

I couldn't stand there, letting the tension build; I fled, silently and discomforted, stopping only briefly to grab some of the bandages that had been laid out. I hung to the walls as I slunk off to the library. In the smallest, most out of the way corner I could find, I began to treat my burns. The propolis I used to start my flames would also act as an anti-inflammatory and antibacterial, if I wrapped it up well. I blinked rhythmically and kept my mind on the methodical wrapping of my wound to prevent my shying emotions from bucking and rearing out of control. In the end I couldn't tie off the bandage, so I let it hang loose as I stared at the ground.

A door opened. I was too numb to tell who it was based on feel. It was probably Karen. Maybe she'd come to comfort me. Maybe she'd help tie off the binding and tell me things weren't as bad as I thought. Or she might tell me they were worse. I couldn't allow myself to worry about which. _Stay centered, don't crack_. I took a breath. _Good. Okay, just talk to her_.

"Nova," came the voice ahead of its owner. It was said without reproach, accusation, pity. Or comfort. It was purely professional, focused, intense, remote. But the voice was masculine.

Oh. I didn't want to explain myself, I didn't want to relive this fiasco, that would be sure to set me off. What choice did I have? I didn't answer or look up, merely tucked my damaged arms out of sight and hoped against reason I wouldn't be found.

Nightwing came around the corner and stood next to a shelf. "You need to give your mission report."

I took a quick breath, blinked twice, and looked up with a face of stone. The movement sent shooting pains behind my eyes from my exertions and I froze. Barely moving my lips I uttered, "Miss Marian didn't?"

"She did, as did Lagoon Boy. But the mission log needs reports from everyone. It's standard operating procedure." Seeing I was close to refusal, he pressed on, "Everyone has a different perspective, and we don't know what detail will be important later; it's better to get everything down while it's fresh." _Before the memory can be interfered with. Makes sense_. I sighed as quietly as I could.

I turned my head gingerly towards his face but focused past it to give my account, which I delivered as tersely as possible to mitigate both the emotional pain of the events and physical pain from talking. "We arrived on scene; Miss Marian engaged Poison Ivy and Lagoon Boy Atomic Skull. The vines had contained up to the second floor of the building complex trapping civilians inside. The guards used flamethrowers to disable the vines. I augmented their power before trying to incinerate as many myself as possible. That proved ineffective. A glass façade with people trapped behind it presented itself. I lit the wooden supports in order to create an exit." I halted, uneager to reveal the next part.

"And…" he prodded, impatient to receive the intel.

I bit the inside of my cheek and continued flatly, without excuse, "A guard's shot almost hit me. I… prepared to defend my position—"

"You were going to attack him?" He asked, with quiet wrath. I blinked and looked further past him. His lowered brows turned the holes in his mask to slits and his mouth was a straight edge.

I nodded without emphasis.

He hissed, "Over a mistake?" I was confused, until I realized he thought the shot had been friendly fire. I didn't clarify, explain about the guy's priorities; there was no acceptable reason for wanting to roast him. "You _can't_ just disobey instructions and then lose your temper." He glowered at me and I mentally shrunk in response; physically I was as immobile as a granite pluton. Of course he was right. Full of bite and cold professionalism he pressed for more, "Finish giving the report; we'll _discuss_ the consequences after."

Woodenly I continued. "A vine hit me and slammed me into restrained Lagoon Boy. The shot I'd prepared hit his vine, setting it on fire. I burned myself free of the vine, freed him, and extinguished the flames that threatened him." He was frowning now. His censure compounded with my own and cracked my fragile detached exterior. To keep my lips from quivering, I pressed them together even though the effort made my head feel as if it were in a vice. I tried to show my acknowledgment and contrition, but that didn't seem to assuage him. I wanted to crawl into a hole, out of the light of day forever, where I could no longer be a screw-up, a liability.

"Why didn't you duck the vine?" He demanded. Confusion at some inconsistency he saw gnawed at his red edges.

"I didn't see it coming." I stammered, perplexed as to why that would be his question.

He stared me down before saying, "Megan gave you warning, and you didn't respond." I didn't respond to that either, just looked away.

He stood silent for a few moments, before the truth crept up on him. "You couldn't hear them." My head shook imperceptibly before I could stop it from its attempt at excuses. "That's why you weren't helping them as directed." He said that more to himself. _Oh. So they did want my help._ _I wasn't supposed to help the people._ That's what he'd meant by disobeying. _I can't even get that right._ _Idiot!_ Despite his conclusion, he was still coolly mad, and how could I blame him when worse was yet to come? "Lagoon Boy's account states you _helped_ Poison Ivy and Atomic Skull escape _?_ " Frustration crawled under and around his words.

Even with two masks between us, I felt his accusing stare pierce into me like a lance, demanding a reaction. Still without looking at him, I answered lifelessly, "Their escape was the result of an explosion from my power."

He took a second to dissect my statement. "Passive voice," he commented, disapproving. Again, I said nothing. Smart guy that he was, he figured out what I wasn't saying. "You didn't mean to set it off?" It was more statement than question. "Will this be a problem? A problem controlling your powers?" The sounds were hard, accusing, and… something … I couldn't quite get it.

"No, no explosions," I said with relief. I didn't want to be relieved, I shouldn't be relieved. It was just that… it was good to see a way I _wouldn't_ hurt them.

"So what happened—?" He demanded sharply at first, then paused.

I evaded, "There was a lot of pollen in the air, from her plants." _I still should have known._

"A dust explosion." He caught on quickly. I nodded. "Did you realize the possibility?"

I answered honestly but circuitously, "I sneezed."

"But you didn't realize the implications." He sighed, exasperation at my rookie mistakes overtaking his fury, returning him to a completive, consuming seriousness. His attention focused on the next step, the next piece of the puzzle. "Did you see why they left when they did?"

"The others didn't?" My brows knit with perplexed confusion.

He shook his head, frustrated. "Neither was in a position."

At least in this respect I could be of a little help, "A vine brought something to Poison Ivy, I couldn't tell what. Sorry."

He ignored my apology and spoke to himself again, "And we probably won't find out. Damn."

"We can't ask what was stolen?" I asked, volunteering information for the first time; his distress superseded my self-critical silence.

"Even _if_ they figure out what's missing, LexCorp doesn't have a history of being cooperative," he bristled. Ah, yes, Lex kept his business to himself. "We needed that lead."

"No luck on your end, then." I said to the room at large more than addressing him.

He self-consciously pulled his still-sweat soaked bangs out of his face. Now that I was actually looking at him, I saw the scuffs on his costume and scratches around his temple. They were superficial injuries, but my gut still clenched with concern. "Dead end. The Ultra-Humanite was a decoy; we followed the balloon into an ambush." He didn't elaborate and I didn't press him. "We have no idea where the Joker was in all this."

 _A reverse Three-card Monte con, Joker not a Queen_ I sarcastically muttered internally, all melancholy. _The prize wasn't even on the table._

He continued. "Clearly, we haven't found your place here yet. That's partially my bad—" I wanted to protest; it wasn't his fault at all! I was the one who let them get away, who almost burned Lagoon Boy, who _tried_ to burn a guard, couldn't link in with Miss Martian, because I… because I'd killed their friend. But he continued before I could attempt an interjection. "— I shouldn't have sent you with Miss Martian with your profile. But the fact that it even crossed your mind to attack a civilian is unacceptable. In the heat of the moment it can be tough to separate friend from foe, but that means you have to be aware of it. Work on discriminating targets in practice from now on. If this continues to be a problem…" he left the thought dangling.

"I understand."

"Good," he said in a far-off tone. Something else held his attention more than my blunders; he must have a million things to mentally juggle; I was sorry for adding to them.

The computer sounded over the intercom, "Recognize: Superboy—B-0-4. Recognize: Wonder Girl—B-2-1." He turned and left me to myself, seemingly forgetting I was there.

My arms had started to sting now, and I brought them out. Yes I'd hid them, yes I'd run. But somehow… I'd expected someone to notice. I'd wanted someone to notice. Someone to care. _But they don't. He…_

The thought broke me. I felt as if I'd been buried under every book in the library. At least the hurt would hold me, wrap me up and comfort me. I closed my eyes and leaned my head against the bookcase and cried silently to myself. Because myself was the only person to cry to.

 _Jemma…_

Eventually I collected myself enough to slip out. I was in enough of a state that the automatic door didn't recognize me and I had to use the manual control. I'd finally dropped the sunny façade and hopped a train back to school. Though I couldn't sleep, I kept my eyes closed the entire ride back, still unwilling to face the world.

Back in my room, I felt indecisive, insecure. But I shouldn't just sit there… so I picked up my computer and started reading articles for class. I wasn't getting very far. My normally slow reading was practically glacial; my eyes weren't focusing any better than my mind.

The computer started chiming. A window popped up. "Sharpshot — calling." I declined. The text tone on skype pinged.

 _Sharpshot —:_ Nova, pick up. I heard things could have gone better. Talk to me.

The incoming call message popped up again. Reluctantly I answered. Artemis' face popped up on the screen.

"No video?" She asked.

"No webcam," I lied. The sun had gone down and I wasn't up to looking like 'Nova' anyways. She sighed.

"First mission's always the hardest." She started.

"Mhhmm."

"You wanna figure out what went wrong?"

 _I know what went wrong_. "They got away." I barely prevented it from being a moan.

"Did you mean for them to?" I didn't answer. "NOVA!" She said exasperated.

"No."

"Well, then you did better than I did on my first mission." She pulled her hair self-consciously away from her face. She seemed to be in an open concept kitchen-dining room-living room; I could see a table to the right and a fridge and counters behind her couch. "I _let_ my first target, Cheshire, get away. I was too insecure about my place on the team."

Wally walked into frame as he opened the door to the fridge. "That's right, I forgot about that. But she was your sister."

Artemis put her fingers to her forehead and rolled her eyes. "Not helping," she tossed over her shoulder. Wally just waved at the camera and walked off with a sandwich. To me she added, "Besides, they didn't know that at the time, and they still let me settle in. Everyone makes mistakes."

"Thanks..." I answered.

"…but you still feel bad about it," she finished for me. I nodded though she couldn't see me. "Anything I can do?"

"Calling helped a lot." I thanked.

"I figured it might. Anything else?"

"Just… talk to me." I pleaded. She looked taken aback at first, but though there was no movement on her face, suddenly I saw understanding. She knew what it was like to be on the outside too.

"About what?" She asked gently.

"Just… simple things."

So she talked to me. About how college was going, about her mom. She and Wally were thinking about getting a dog. Some anecdote about her friends at school. Over time I started to forget the day and lived hers. I asked questions, and laughed with her. She kept me on the line for a solid two hours. At the end she finished with, "I'm always here, if you need me. I won't disappear."

"Like the Cheshire Cat."

"No, not like Jade at all." It was a talk for another time, but there _would_ be other times. And with that in mind, I was able to go to sleep, something I hadn't thought would be possible.


	15. 15: Casual Cruelty, Casual Kindness

Chapter 15

"It's this Saturday. You should come," Karen insisted as we sat at the lunch table between classes. A was week and a half had past, but the memories of my last Team activity still stung like the half-healed burns I concealed under my long sleeve shirts.

"Maybe," I said evasively.

"Don't give me that, girl."

"No one wants to see me after…" I trailed off.

"Fia, it _happens_ ," she said impatiently. "It's not even a Team thing, it's just fo' fun, so come!"

"If it's not official why do I have to be there?"

"Because it's for _everyone_! Everyone is gonna be there." _Even more reason for me NOT to be._ "Common, you had fun the last time."

"Last time?"

"The _picnic_?" She spelled out with exasperation.

"Right…"

"Just be there. Nine O'clock." She gave me a stern look before picking up her tray and departing.

I really didn't want to go. Not that I should have to say that explicitly at this point, but it bears repeating. The whole social deal was Karen's thing, not mine. Karen, Megan, and Conner had all gone to high school together along with a couple of other people here at the Ivy University, Wendy and Marvin, whom I didn't know. Karen had been bumming out that her Team and lab duties had keep her occupied of late, so she decided to throw a sort of open reunion thing so that everyone could see each other again and meet their friend's friends and friends of friends so that everyone could be friends. And as her friend, I qualified as needing to be there. It really made me question her definition of friendship.

But I had no excuse and didn't want to hurt or anger her by not showing. Despite the late hour, I choose to hang onto enough sunlight to maintain my Nova appearance; no one from the school save Karen and Mal knew me well enough to recognize that I was still Fia, and looking like Nova would at least allow the Team members to know who I was. The feverish pressure of hanging onto the state would complement the social pressures I was sure to face.

I departed early, but when I got to the common room, it was empty. Had I got the location wrong? The date? My belly clenched with nerves as I waited. At 9:11 Karen showed up.

"Oh, hi." She greeted surprised. "You're here early."

"It wasn't supposed to start at 9?" I asked with suppressed anxiety.

"No, it was." She assured offhandedly, "No one shows up til at least quarter of though; I'm just setting up."

"Oh. Okay." The awkward silence expanded like a balloon… "Need any help?"

"No, I got it."

"Okay…"

She wandered in and out of the kitchenette each time with a different load. Table cloth, punch bowl, chips and the like, and soon enough had everything in place. Others began to arrive and I faded back into inconspicuousness as my discomfort grew.

These gatherings, they were just the worst. As I've said, I made a point of not attending parties anymore, but on the few occasions that I did, I observed, trying to understand the attraction to others. The hedonic value escaped me entirely. People formed little groups and chatted and wandered around. There was a lot of leaning in too close and laughter. The dynamic I thought was in part due to the fact that at least at this particular event everyone had _some_ idea who everyone else was. Except for me. Well, I knew who they were, for the most part, but not what to say to them other than the small talk I detested. To me, making small talk was like being a snake charmer: you played not for the pleasure of the sound but to keep the viper from biting you. Avoiding the viper all together just seemed better all round.

Everyone else did seem to be having a good time though. There was alcohol, and I kept thoughts on that to myself. Everyone else had a drink in their hand and there was a beer pong game set up. That was a game I really didn't understand. I'd seen it be played once or twice, and as far as I could tell you had to drink from the cup the ball had landed in. Except that ball had been all over the floor from all the times the shooter missed and there was no way the alcohol content of the beverage was high enough to kill all the microbes the ball picked up. If it were high enough to kill the bacteria, even the most tolerant of drinkers would not be able to play.

A few people played at any given time, but the majority of people seemed more intent on talking or dancing. The music was the loud sort, with a heavy beat and no real lyrics to speak of. From my perspective the noise just tangled all the other sounds in the room to a near indecipherable mess. If I kept away from the speakers I had a marginal chance of understanding what was being said. Most of the groups seemed to be four to seven people talking, with individuals nomadically wandering from group to group. Surely it couldn't be that hard?

I stood on the edges of one constellation where the topic seemed to be a recent football game. Someone from a different group heard, made a comment and was admitted to the gathering. I tried to listen for an opening to give some sort of opinion but found none. I couldn't follow well enough with snatches of the other neighboring topics winking in and out of my consciousness like fireflies, though not nearly as pretty or gentle. Another group was talking about weird sleeping habits.

I interjected after the last member was done sharing. "I usually sleep from three to nine and then four to six. The bimodal thing really doesn't work well with the school schedule, but it's what my body demands." There were a few muttered replies, but the circle didn't open up to include me. I retreated to a corner seat where my ostracism would be as obvious and I wouldn't feel the force of the social field repelling me. I'd liken the field to a magnetic one, but in such cases opposites attract, which was clearly not the situation.

Wanting a distraction from my ever present social failings, I focused on what the Team members were doing, how they handled such things. They were the people I was most likely to see again, despite going to school with most of the others. More data on the transient, unwelcoming figures seemed largely irrelevant.

Barbra was as often as not dancing. Her outfit was casual, but dressy. Plain, neutral-colored, close fitting tee with a blue over robe type sweater. A blue midi-skirt showed off her calves and she wore practical flats. Her auburn hair was down and her teeth flashed at everyone she saw. She chatted happily with anyone who approached her, but clearly wasn't there for anyone but herself. As far as I could tell she'd had the same solo cup for the last thirty five minutes and hadn't refilled it.

Karen, on the other hand, was on her third drink I thought, and having a blast. She was dressed up a little more than Barbra, wearing a purple midi dress, inch high black heels, and eye liner. Her hair was adorned with sparkling clips while her arm was adorned with Mal, on whom she hung. She laughed at everything, though I couldn't say what she found so funny, and was always near where the most intense conversation was. Mal stayed with her, his deep chuckle often accompanying her giggles though he seemed to be a bit more serious. It seemed that even though they were always together, they were often having parallel conversations, Mal with the guys in the group and Karen with the girls. They did it so effortlessly.

Conner looked slightly bored but cheered up a bit when the girl Wendy came to talk. He was dressed in his typical logoed Tee shirt and jeans while Wendy was in a white cotton button down. I'd seen her on campus a few times, but didn't know much about her. She was very relaxed around Conner and often touched his shoulder casually. He didn't stiffen at her touches, though from what'd I'd seen of him he didn't seem like one for casual contact.

My attention was drawn to Megan, who I saw had also noticed this interaction. Her lips pursed briefly but the room was too crowded for me to tell anything more specific through resonance. She turned away from them to lean into La'gaan. Both were disguised as human for the night, though his posture denoted what I assumed was his displeasure with this fact. She was dressed in much the same way as Barbra, and the majority of the other girls there. I looked down at my own outfit, a colorful purple batique top and flower patterned skirt. It was both too casual and too dressy for the setting, but it was the closest I owned to such a style of dress. For the most part, Megan had been chatting up any person who came nearby, clearly the social butterfly. Yet she never strayed too far from her date, who clearly did not want to have attention drawn to him. She regularly shot him affectionate glances and her most genuine smiles were reserved for him.

It felt intrusive to watch that, so again I moved on. That left Nightwing and Zatanna. Nightwing was going by the name Rob, but I didn't think that was his actual name. I thought it was probably short for Robin, his former codename, which would explain why he responded to it so naturally. On second thought, after seeing how he acted, he probably could have been as natural with any name.

He wore the same shades I'd seen him wear at the park despite the dim lighting and late hour, and totally pulled off the look. His black shirt clung to his muscles even as the unbuttoned blue over-shirt casually framed him as a whole. Maybe even more so than Karen, he was in every conversation. I didn't think he knew anyone there not on the Team, but he seamlessly introduced himself to each new person who entered a tête-à-tête. And when someone left and rejoined he was addressing them by name, something I could never do. As I watched I saw that he noticed interactions of those around him that were not going as smoothly as his own. On multiple occasions he slipped out gracefully of his current dialog to invigorate those that were failing. Wherever he went laughter followed and postures loosened. No matter how awkward things had been before his arrival, nothing disturbed his calm and it radiated to everyone. Good thing I hadn't been part of any of those conversations or they would have been beyond saving. But whether he was starting a game of beer pong or mixing fancy drinks or getting people dancing, anyone near him was enjoying themselves. He flirted with every woman, seriously with those who were single and jokingly with those who'd come with someone. Not even the boyfriends were bothered by this behavior. Several of girls he flirted with eyed him as he mingled around the room, clearly with a mind towards taking him home afterwards, and it seemed he'd be all too happy to comply when the festivities terminated.

Not the least of these leering girls was Zatanna. Oh, she was flirting with every random guy other than Nightwing, but the fact that she singled him out to be ignored made it clear who her ideal target was. In her two-inch strappy heels and red one-shoulder cocktail dress, it was clear she had come to make a statement. I couldn't tell if it was having its intended effect on Nightwing though. He seemed neither to especially ignore nor attend to either Zatanna or Barbra, though he did share a dance with the later (in a large group). It seemed like tonight he didn't especially care with whom he departed, just whoever wanted him the most.

I didn't want to watch that either. Megan, Barbra, the guy Marvin, and a few other people of both genders were conversing near the punch bowl. I thought I could sneak behind the two I knew to get a drink with a friendly nod and a minimum of fuss. As I ladled myself some of the fruity beverage I tried to listen into the conversation. It seemed they were telling jokes from the bits I could catch.

"Okay, so an older couple are walking on a beach w- - - tripped over a bottle - - -genie pops out. 'You can each have one wish,' says - genie. The wife - say-, "- - travel - - - - world, with my husband,' and two tickets - - - - - - - . - - - - husband's turn. - - - , 'Well…I wish my - - - - 20 years younger than me!' The wor - - - ely out of his mouth when poof, he aged 20 years!"

Everyone laughed and the Marvin started, "I got one, I got one. A blonde, a brun- -, and a redhead are stranded - - - - - - island. They fin- - -lamp and agree - - - - - - one wish. - - ette and the red- - - - wish - -at home. Then the blonde then says, "- I'm kinda lonely ... I wish-..."

I missed the punch line, but I guess it was good since again, it was chuckles all around. One of the boys started, with a mischievous look, _"A guy - - - - -bar, and on the bar, - - - - a twelve-inch man pla- - - piano. - asked the bartender, 'What's that - - - - -?' The bartender - - -lamp and says, 'Rub it, you'll understand.'_ \- - rubs the bottle and _poof. Out comes - - - - - guy one wish. The guy thinks for a seco - - - million - -. Immediately a million ducks fill up the bar. - -says to the bar tender, '_ I didn't want a million _ducks_!' - - - _bartender replies, 'Do you think I wanted a twelve-inch Pianist?'"_

 _That one got a roar. "One more, one more," the next guys says. "_ Three guys - - - - - - beach, and they found a- -. The genie told - - - a wish to each one of them. The first guy wished for - and got it. The second guy - - - - a super model wife and- - . The third guy - - - to touch the ground. - - genie cut off his legs."

Again, everyone laughed, though I had no idea what had been so funny. But the walking on a beach was a decent segue to one of the two djinn joke I knew, so I thought I'd at least give interaction a try.

"I've got one that starts a little like that. A man has just been dumped by his longtime girlfriend and he doesn't know why, so he's really bummed out. So he goes for a walk on this Californian beach to try to clear his head and he stumbles across a lamp. He rubs lamp and there's a djinn inside who offers him one wish. He says to the djinn, 'Gee, I really want to get out of here, too many bad memories. I've always wanted to visit Hawaii, but I'm afraid of flying and I get really sea sick. I bet there are a bunch of people like me who'd like to be able to get there some other way. Can you make me a bridge to the islands?' The djinn looks at him in disbelief and replies, 'Are you kidding me? Do you know how far away Hawaii is? It's thousands of miles over some of the deepest ocean in world; it'd take so much engineering to provide good supports. It's just not feasible. Please, wish for anything, anything else, I'll give that to you instead.' So the man thinks about it for a while and says. 'I wish to understand women.' The djinn just looks at him again and says deadpan, 'Will that be one lane or two?' To their credit, they didn't interrupt me as I told the joke.

I chuckled at the joke and one or two of the others made a snort, but for the most part it was quiet except for the background beat of the music and murmur of other groups talking.

"Who calls it a djinn?" someone whispered.

"First you occupy Hawaii, now you want to permanently link it? Free Hawaii!" said another, presumably a social justice warrior.

"I don't get it," muttered another to one of the people who did laugh. That guy just shrugged.

 _Damn._ I should have told the shorter one. _A djinn— genie—says to the man, "I will only grant you one wish." The man says to him, "I wish for more genies!" _I took a sip of my drink to cover my embarrassment at my failed attempt at humor. The liquid numbed my tongue and fizzed my throat. While I'd been people watching someone had apparently spiked the punch and I'd missed it. Reflexively, I spat the drink back into my cup. I didn't mean to be so rude but it had taken all my effort to fight the reflex to spray it outright. People understandably looked disgusted and I felt my face turn red. I hurried away, washed my cup out in the sink and refilled it with water to wash the taste of booze and shame out of my mouth.

I would have left outright, but a few of the people in the group were still glancing at me and I didn't want to draw even more attention by running away. If I hid in my corner for another ten minutes they'd forget about me and I could slip out.

Unfortunately I didn't get that reprieve of ten minutes. Being the dutiful hostess Karen came over to check on me. I regretted my resentment at her concern, but I could not help the way I felt. The worst part was that looking at her made me queasy. In her current state and proximity she filtered through my resonance as blurred and wavy, as if I were seeing her through water. It hadn't been as bad with the other people in the party because I didn't know them as well, but with Karen the difference was palpable. The only upside was that drinking was enough a part of Karen's make up that this didn't feel as utterly alien as my first experience with this peculiar personal consequence of the devil's drink.

She sauntered up, cup in hand, giggling, to lean against the wall next to the sofa on which I perched. "Heeeeyyyy, girl! How's it go'n?" It wasn't quite a shout, but even given the music it was a little too loud. I winced, shrugged, and kept my gaze averted.

" _You're_ having a good time," She stated merrily.

"Not particularly," I said honestly.

"Aw, don't lie to me. Common, you're having fun."

This did get her a glare, which I regretted as the room swam.

"I'm glad I could be here for you, but it's not my scene," I corrected with a little heat.

All she seemed to register was the 'I'm glad' part. She twittered and replied, "Yeah, don't pretend, I saw you talking to people. I knew you could do it." I didn't try to correct her a third time, knowing it was futile. Instead I just nodded and let her talk. I didn't pay that much attention as her monolog rambled with only a vague coherence between topics, none of which meant much to me.

Suddenly she stopped and snapped, "Don't give me that judgmental sober look." I hadn't realized I'd been giving her one, I thought I'd been feigning attention as well as one could with such a wandering narrative.

"Sorry," I apologized with about 50% sincerity.

"No you're not," she pouted, "Here, try this." She passed me a cup. I sniffed it and the fruity spices did next to nothing to cover up the smell of ethanol.

My face contorted sourly at the smell, and I tried to hand it back to her.

"Keep it," she said, "Come find me when you're actually _fun_." With that she wandered back off in the direction of her beau.

That hurt. I stared at the cup and for an instant I could understand why someone might have downed the concoction. Why someone would want to prove her wrong. But I wasn't that someone.

My hand clenched around the cup and I just stopped myself from spilling all over. I put it down too slowly on the side table and stood up tightly. The surroundings had faded to insubstantial details and only the door was still clear as I dispassionately exited. I didn't want to carry this taint back with me to my room, my haven, so instead of foraging out into the campus at large I went up the stairs to the common room on the top floor of the dorm. It was identical to every other non-ground floor, but the lofty detachment appealed to me. With the music still audible downstairs, anyone not interested in sleeping would be at the party and thus I was likely to have the space in which to settle myself. The couch had some disturbing looking stain on it, but the blue arm chair seemed clean. I sat in it sideways and fetal, tucking my knees and head against the chair back, eyes closed. I was still tense, not with hot anger, or even much frustration, but with a lost, constricting yet ghostly ache. It nagged at me like the humidity of a summer day and paired poorly with the pressure of the foreign sunlight I held. I was about to release the alien energy and hope the hurt would follow, when I heard someone coming up the stairs. I'd wait until after the interloper passed, give myself a few minutes to relax, and then go back to nest. In the meantime, distance. Connection would only further damage myself or someone else.

My eyes were still shut against information inundation. But my ears were open and my resonance still gathered general ideas even if I had tried to tune out any specifics. The person, had soft, even footsteps, not the stumbling clunk of a real drunkard, yet the ethereal impressions still had the characteristic undulations of everyone who'd been celebrating downstairs. He paused at the top of the flight; I heard the rustle of cloth as he turned his head, and felt his pips of curiosity. I felt a gaze on me and the wall creaked as he leaned against the door frame. The look had no malice in it, so I continued to feign sleep. There was no urgency in this person, only consideration. Eventually he rapped his knuckles against the wood and said indifferently, "Knock knock." There was no expectation that I would answer, no insistence that I should. If I wanted to pretend I was unconscious he would leave without any embarrassment or ill will.

It was this total acceptance of my choice which made respond, "Who's there?" to the familiar voice.

He paused a second, and made a quick decision to take a chance, "Abbreviation for acetylcholine."

"ACh who?" I responded automatically, still with my eyes closed. Then I heard myself and my lips broke into a smile.

"Gazhuntight." He replied cordially. He pushed off of the door frame and plopped gracefully into the chair opposite mine.

"That wouldn't work with most people," I stated.

"I didn't think it'd be much of a risk."

I opened my eyes, "Hey Nightwing," I greeted the lounging form, "Happy to amuse. Though you seem to have plenty of that on your own tonight," and closed my eyes again.

He ignored my commentary and instead said, "It's Rob."

"It's not." I answered.

"That's the one I'm giving."

"But it's not your name."

"Someone told you what is?" He asked curiously, with just the faintest trace of annoyance.

"I'll know it when I hear it."

"And what name are you giving tonight?"

I raised my eyebrows. "You haven't found out who I am yet?"

He shook his head. "In the name of courtesy I reined in my investigatory instincts. You haven't given me a reason not to, nor has Batman." So someone knew who I was. I wonder what parts of my story he had, and if he knew how much were false. I should have been more worried about this, but if someone found out, there wasn't much I could do to stop it. Lex's fabricated documents would likely pass a careful inspection so long as I didn't give any contradictory information.

He was still waiting for my answer, "I haven't."

He paused, giving me the opportunity to tell him if I wished. But he hadn't offered his true name and I didn't want to be restrained by another false one, so I remained silent.

"So, Nova," he defaulted without concern, "What are you doing up here?"

"Looking for quiet," I responded vaguely.

"I still hear music," he teased lightly, "Why not go home?"

"Fair question." Then reluctantly I added, "I'd like to."

"But you don't feel like you can… or should," he postulated.

I neither confirmed nor denied this. I was reminded of all the soldiers who couldn't adjust when returning home from war. _How dare you compare your situation to those who have truly suffered_.

"Do you want me to leave?" I shrugged indifferently, so he didn't move.

"Why are you here?" I asked without real interest.

"An inquisitive mind."

"About the dorm?" I asked, incredulous.

"Among other things."

"Found anything interesting?"

"This dorm was probably office space to start."

I glanced up at this. "Really?" My look invited him to explain.

"No sight lines between the doors; they're all on the same side of the hall. S' good for office privacy and organization, but not a dorm. That and the rooms vary in size as much as threefold; dorms rooms are equal whereas offices are proportional to need."

"How do you know about the room sizes?" I asked, genuinely curious now.

"Downloaded the floorplan before I came, actually," he admitted, "Force of habit."

"So what have you picked up from actually coming up here?"

"Not you," he joked in an almost bored way before adding, with a wave towards the far end of the hall. "That girl has made good friends: cards from Christmas, Valentine's day, and St. Patrick's. All signed by the same hands. Her neighbor hasn't been as lucky: lots of pictures on the door but all of them are at least a year old. That guy," he pointed, "Insecure about his masculinity but still a team player; didn't take down the dorm theme SpongeBob character but drew pecs onto Pearl. Person with the bells is trying to be more open, but is nervous about it and wants the alarm system. She," a point to a door I could see, covered in all sorts of cartoons with narwhals, platypus, My Little Pony, cats, rainbows, "doesn't know how to express herself and is trying any way she can think to get it across."

I couldn't tell if any of that was true, but the logic was solid as Manhattan bedrock. I blinked and gave a small nod of appreciation. But he wasn't quite done yet.

"And you," he said cautiously, "You don't like being around people, do you?" I tilted my head at him. "Why?" he asked.

"Plenty of reasons," I answered briefly.

"Give me one," he requested.

"Don't want to guess for yourself?"

"Not about this."

His sincerity surprised me into saying the first thing that came to my mind, "I'm a creature of comfort."

"Not sure what that has to do with anything," he said. "But if so, you're in the wrong line of work." He pushed up his sleeve to reveal several partially healed bruises on his forearm. They were fading from purple to green and he rubbed them gingerly.

I shook my head. "Emotional comfort more than physical," I replied. _I can trust people with my life but not my soul_. "I make people uncomfortable. It…echoes back."

"You don't make me uncomfortable," he said, and I read neither particular reassurance nor defensiveness.

"I don't think anything on the outside can make you uncomfortable,"

"Hmmm?" I hadn't meant to say that so I didn't answer and he didn't press.

"You want something to drink?" he asked instead. It was then I noticed he had two cups with him. I boarded up immediately, shaking my head and jerking my look away. "You sure?" he queried with seemingly no ulterior motivation. _Why does everyone try to get me drunk? Am I that unpleasant to be around?_ At my continued stoniness he shrugged, put down the second cup and took a sip of his own. "Okay, what about a joke? I think I can top yours." He'd heard that, and now he was pitying me. My face got red but my lack of outright refusal was enough encouragement. "A biologist, a physicist, and a mathematician all watch an empty house." I glanced back, surprised that the joke seemed like it was likely to be something intellectual, but I really shouldn't have been considering how he'd opened the conversation. "Two people go in, and some amount of time later three come out. The biologist says to his fellows, 'this is an example of procreation'. The physicist thinks they made a 50% calculation error on the number of people who went in. And the mathematician? He says to the others, 'no, if one person goes into the house, the house will be empty again.'"

Now I was doubly glad I hadn't accepted the drink because if I had, it have been coming out of my nose. I snortled for a solid twenty seconds, the bouts fading and strengthening as I attempted to collect myself and failed as I thought about the joke more. Eventually I did get it together and the literalist I was replied, "I don't think they could have been watching long enough for procreation to occur."

"It was an undisclosed amount of time. Besides, one could have been a pregnant woman going in; average labor time's less than ten hours. _My_ question is why are they watching the house? Seems like an unethical invasion of privacy without written consent."

He kept me talking with a couple of other nerdy jokes and questions about my classes until before I realized it, I'd turned to face him entirely once again.

"You're a good friend, to come to this thing when you don't like it." He said as he pushed up his remaining sleeve so that they were both at his elbows.

"Thanks," I replied, subconsciously mirroring and pushing one back myself. The air suddenly felt tight as the tune of his mood zagged. I looked up; he was staring at me in shock.

In a voice much calmer than his face had been a second ago he asked, "Your… What happened?" _Oops._ And I'd been so good all week. _Stupid mirror neurons_.

I shut my eyes, mentally berating myself for the mistake, and pulled the sleeve back over the bandages.

His tone, moments before full of levity and air, was now authoritarian and serious. "What. Happened?"

"Nothing."

He was back in Team leader mode and ignored my denial. He got up, and I oriented to the movement. His brow was furrowed with disquiet and I felt guilt weigh on me for adding to his perceived responsibilities. To me, "Give it here." There was a slight hesitation at the end, as if he wanted to add something, but whatever it was remained suppressed now that he had recovered from the initial shock.

Reluctantly I brought out my arm. He knelt down, taking it clinically and undoing the unkempt bandages. He inspected it intensely. "These are… burns?" He looked up at me. "You're burned. Week old."

He seemed to require a response. "Yes,"

"But you're pyrokinetic?"

"Did I ever say I was fireproof?" I retorted cynically, not wanting to talk about it. But I immediately regretted it; this wasn't his problem.

"I just assumed… but I shouldn't have. What happened?"

"I burned myself."

"How?" he insisted. I didn't answer. I could see his eyes shift behind the sun glasses, retracing the events of the past two weeks, "'…burned myself free of the vine'," he quoted verbatim and I cursed my all too apt wording. "Why?"

"It was necessary." _I couldn't burn another one of your people._

By the look on his face I thought he was torn between postulating future implications to his mission plans, with what I hoped was a slight appreciation for my team mentality. And… there was a tightness emanating from him him not explained by either that was amplified rather than mollified by his mild inebriation. He kept his question away from both emotions, though, in favor of intellectual investigation, "So why you don't burn yourself all the time? Canary never mentioned this as a problem." He started to wrap my forearm up again, much more neatly than I had. And more gently.

I didn't answer at first, and he stopped his ministrations until I did. "Low temperature fire, high tolerance, time, thermodynamics." I recited as if to a professor.

"So physics, rather than superpowers."

I nodded[1]

"Could I try?" the question slipped out. "No, never mind."

His momentary openness prompted me to say, "Maybe another time," though I hoped he'd forget.

"It would make a great party trick." I could see him thinking about all the attention that it would gain him, not that he needed more, but was surprised he didn't suggest I use the tactic for myself. Karen would have, if she had thought of it as anything other than a super power.

He tied off the one arm and held his hand out for the other. His first handiwork was so much more comfortable than my own that I complied.

It felt awkward, even if he didn't mind, to sit there and have him tend me, so I made an unwilling venture at small talk, "You've been around… super-powered people for so long this sort of thing must, seem normal to you by now."

"Metas," he corrected. There were too many terms in this line of work. "Actually, no. I'm whelmed," he paused but didn't actually say 'obviously, "But the adventure of it never goes away." The way he said it, it made me wonder how accurate an impression of himself he'd given upon our first meeting, and how much of him was truly the detached, objective leader he seemed now.

"You ever jealous?" I wondered, and realized I'd said it aloud.

"Hmmm, used to be, back when I started. But never stopped Batman, so never stopped me. It makes a person more aware of his weaknesses, easier to guard against them." He smiled to himself, "Certainly built character."

"You don't resent that awareness at all?" I imagined it must be like constantly facing your own mortality, something I don't' recommend.

"Powers might be cool, but I've already got cool covered," he answered lightly. _Even with superpowers, I'll never hold a candle to your poise, will I?_ He focused again, "Ultimately, isn't about what you can't do, it's about what you do. Help people."

Still, I couldn't help but ask, "If you could have a super power though, what would it be?"

He laughed, "Honestly? Rapid healing." He pointed to the bruise on his arm again as he finished tending to mine. "There's nothing more frustrating than waiting for broken bones to heal."

I thought on this for a second. "Not, like, super reflexes to avoid getting hurt? Or invincibility?"

"Pain's an excellent teacher, keeps you sharp; I thought I taught you that on the mat," he alluded to my first day. I resisted the urge to rub my posterior at the remembered impression. He continued, "I'm pretty good at keeping it to a minimum, and I like the way it's made me fight, made me move," _the way you are_. "It'd just be nice be able to bounce back a little faster, when probability strikes. You?"

"What?" I asked, confused.

"If you could have chosen, would it have been sun empowerment pyrokinesis?"

In a way I had chosen, by being Nova on the team and right now. But that answer was the literal truth, not the answer to what he was asking. "No."

"What would you have chosen?"

I knew, I knew immediately. If I could choose, I'd choose to be me. But I'd lost that privilege of that choice so I deflected. "I don't know..." I fished for something I wouldn't mind. "Flight? Force-fields? Intangebility?" that last was too close to accurate.

"Figures," he replied with satisfaction.

"What do you mean?"

"Why you didn't fight. Fire's an offensive element and it may be your power, but it's not who you are."

That was exactly it. I stared at him, disbelieving that someone else _could_ know that. But he continued, "You aren't an aggressor, you don't get that thrill of battle; everything about you avoids confrontation."

Aggression, initiative, ambition, all attributes I lacked that defined a hero. And honesty. The only times I'd displayed them…

He saw my expression, "There's nothing wrong with that. Fire's not thoughtful or protective. It's weird that you don't match your powers, but statistically not everyone's abilities can mirror their personalities as well as Batman's. Or Flash's. Or Wally's. Come to think of it all the speedsters have that sort of personality. Hmmm."

His assurances were too late though, the conflict between who I was and wanted to be, and how acted and I needed to, had been reinitiated. He could tell he'd said something wrong, overstepped somehow, but couldn't know how.

"So _this_ is where you got to, Wonder Boy. Party needs you." And Zatanna's eyes added, _and it's not the only one_. "Come on."

Nightwing grinned at her before giving a last friendly smile at me, "I don't have to tell you to like who you are." He got up, offered Zatanna his arm, and led her back down stairs. I had no idea what caused him to say that, or what exactly he meant.

Though more pleasant than the party by far, this encounter had been just as surreal, and I still hadn't gotten my ten minutes of peace.

I waited, letting the faint noise fade out and air clear of Zatanna's lily perfume and the booziness that had floated around Nightwing from his drink. I pulled down my hair and let the sunlight out in a slow glow to avoid drawing attention or burning anything. The relief wasn't instant, but it was complete and I breathed easy at last.

I still smelled fruit though. Nightwing had left the other drink, the one he'd offered. I stood to go, but paused at the doorway. Something was missing. I turned and picked up the cup, taking a closer whiff. Tentatively, disbelievingly, I put the plastic to my lips.

And sipped, with a soft smile.

* * *

[1] See youtube.


	16. 16: Insomnia & Restless Sleep

Chapter 16

Another morning at school. Clock said it was 7:14, but it was actually 7:03. It was always set 11 minutes fast even though I already knew what time it was, just for a little variety. Hit the snooze button. Push it again. Think about pushing it a third time, but get up, brush my knarred hair, get dressed. Didn't hit that snooze button the third time because I wanted the time to get down to breakfast. I was okay skipping breakfast if I got up on my own schedule, but if I was rousted I was lethargic for the rest of the day unless I had that mild pick me up of honey-nut cheerios. A look out the window confirmed it was likely to be a sunny April day rather than the usual spring rain. That buoyed my mood up; I hated spring rain. Rain was fine, despite what someone knowing of my power set might think, I just didn't like it to be cold. At that point it was just rubbing it in your face that it wasn't snow.

And it was nice outside, a very comfortable 60 or so with a light breeze rustling through the flecks of leaves that were beginning to emerge from the trees. Not a lot of people on the walk to caf, which was a pleasant surprise. No one specifically bothered me much, but too much noise in the morning, just too overwhelming. Still, that meant the contrast once I entered the cafeteria would be all the sharper and more unpleasant. I took a moment to brace before opening the door.

But it was unusually quiet for a Thursday. The woman who swiped the card didn't even bother to say her perfunctory, "Good morning." I glanced around, but the air didn't feel like there had been a tragedy or anything that was dampening the campus mood. People were just staring off into space, or their coffee. Well, that was fine with me.

I went to get my cheerios, but someone bumped into me as I went to fill the bowl with milk. He apologized with a yawn and I nodded forgiveness since without the liquid I hadn't really spilled. My usual table in the corner was unoccupied and I started towards it, but caught sight Karen sitting by herself in the next room over. I didn't usually like to sit with people during breakfast, taking the time to collect myself for the social stresses of the day, but I was feeling pretty good thanks to the low energy I'd encountered so far so I pulled up a chair next to her.

"Morning, Bee," I greeted before putting a spoonful of O's in my mouth.

"Mhrmph," she mumbled. That wasn't like her. There was a reason she'd been a cheerleader, she always had energy to spare. Usually she was Miss Morning Person.

"Karen?"

"What?!" She snapped, before rubbing her forehead. "Sorry, didn't mean that. What's up?"

"Just wanted to know what was up with you."

"Didn't sleep well," she growled before taking a sip of coffee. The movement caused the vapors to waft over to me, and the strength nearly knocked my socks off.

"Was there something that happened last night? A party or something?" It had been a Thursday, but turns out that didn't mean much in college. Econ majors didn't have class on Thursday and weren't shy about making sure others knew it. But this level of mass sluggishness would require something larger than that.

"Not that I know of," Karen yawned. And if she didn't know of it, it meant that nothing had happened.

"Everyone seems to be out of it today," I observed.

"I think it's some sorta bug or somethang going around. Been a couple of nights since I got more than a few. You're the only one I've seen who's been at all bright eye'd and bushy." I'd hardly call myself that, but relatively speaking that seemed to be the case. It wouldn't be surprising if there was some sort of illness going around and I was uninfected due to my minimal contact with others, but I wasn't convinced that was the explanation. The tiredness seemed too global, and I didn't see anyone with a stuffy nose or cough or anything that should be keeping people awake. If it were an illness, the fact that these people couldn't rest would be sure to prolong its lifetime.

"I've got some tea that might help you sleep, if you want to try that. Maybe make you feel better…" I offered.

"Is it strong?" she asked, not daring to be hopeful.

"Can be," I said, thinking of how I'd nearly knocked Mal unconscious with a similar concoction.

"That would be great," she accepted with relief. "I've got an Orgo exam tomorrow and I had _no_ idea how I was going to manage that on the two hours a night. This," she held up her mug, "is the only thing between the school and another lab accident."

"I'll come by tonight," I promised.

She started to thank me but yawned half way through. With a look at her watch she made a noise that would have been a yelp with more energy behind it. "Late for class," she explained, before getting up, filling a thermos with more coffee, and departing.

The rest of the day was pretty uneventful as you might expect. Even the professors were tired, one even canceling a minor quiz we'd been scheduled because he, "hadn't been up to writing it last night." The response from the class was positive, but remarkably subdued.

By the end of the day, even I was starting to find it creepy.

I mixed the herbs and went over to Karen's room about 10, wearing a hoodie to keep the moon out of my eyes. Nearly all the windows were dark despite the fact that it was relatively early; people were trying to give themselves maximum opportunity to sleep.

Bee looked down right frazzled when she opened the door to admit me. "You have no idea how much I need to get some winks."

"I think I do…"

"I look that bad?" without her makeup from the day on the bags under her eyes wouldn't have been allowed in carry-on.

I temporized. "Let's get the water going." I went in and was unsurprised to see Mal. He was there as many nights as not, as far as I could tell.

"Sorry—" yawn, "—that you're basically just coming to put us to sleep and not do something."

"Yeah, thanks, Fi," mumbled Mal.

"You know me," I shrugged as I turned on the hot pot. "Can stay and get some work done? I'll lock up when I'm finished."

Neither had the energy to object, poor things.

I crushed the herbs into the boiling water. I held my moonstone with my free hand, channeling a bit of power into the powder. I hadn't made this an instant KO batch, but if some Zzzzz didn't take her off to dream land within twenty minutes of consumption, I'd eat my hat. I passed her the mug, which she sipped at.

"Smells amazing. Where'd you get this?"

"I make it,"

"Get out,"

"Really."

"Where'd you learn then."

Um… I could just sort of tell what the Zzzzz's were attracted to. But a thought came to me quickly enough that in her fatigued state neither would notice the hesitation, "Hippy parents, remember?" I handed Mal his mug as well.

"Of course. Good to see a tangible benefit to society." Mal wasn't a fan of the "dirty hippy" stereotype.

We chatted a bit, but both were flagging and having trouble keeping up a conversation, particularly the typically chatterbox Karen. They weren't falling asleep though. I mentally reached out, but couldn't sense _any_ Zzzz's nearby. That was worrying. After 34 minutes of waiting, I began to whistle a lullaby under my breath between our bouts of speech, all the while being thankful I didn't actually own a hat to eat.

Finally, I sensed a small herd of Zzzz at the edge of my range. Almost as soon as I sensed it, it made a bee line for the room. Both Karen and Mal immediately slumped down on her bed, out cold. I thought her exhaustion had called it almost as much as my efforts, but everyone else seemed as tired; I just given them my usual spot at the front of the line. As I tucked them in to bed, I chewed on my lip. It was nearly 11, the air should have been thick with Zzzz's whether or not people were going to sleep, whether or not they were repelling it with stimulants. But the queue wasn't moving because there was no supply. And that, that wasn't natural.

Sometimes there were just imbalances like this, random fluctuations in the global distribution of Zzzz's that left an area in a deficit. I'd never encountered one this extreme before, but they never lasted long. I tried to forget this drought had already lasted a few days according to Karen and hoped that the anomalous disparity was one that would right itself.

I was never that lucky.

The good news was I didn't have to figure out a way to report the presence of a tangible problem. The bad news was that it was because when I went to the Cave on Saturday, the organization was already aware. And affected.

Everyone gathered in the mission room, the large one with the holographic computer in which I had first trained. Most people had a mug of coffee, or at the very least were yawning. Beast Boy in particular seemed pretty zoned out, and Robin wasn't looking much better. I thought both to be around 13 or so, a high energy age with a high physiological need for sleep. Wonder Girl was probably not much older than them, but being female was more mature and likely needed a little less. Miss Martian and Superboy looked to be the most focused, though both had a stiffness about their carriage that belayed minor fatigue. I myself was pretty whipped, having foregone sleep the previous night so as to allow others a better chance at the scarce resource.

Nightwing's jaw clenched subtly with what I suspected was a suppressed yawn before beginning. "I don't have to tell you guys that there have been large reports of mass insomnia." He made a motion and one of the holographic screens behind him blew up for everyone to see. It was map of the North America, with gradient colored rings with a center near Chicago. The center was a dark blue that faded for about 250 miles before abruptly switching to a dark red, which in turn faded to pink over about 700 or 800 miles. "What you may not have appreciated," he said, pointing to the epicenter, "Is that people in blue areas are sleeping more. Society in the most heavily affected areas is grinding to a halt: schools, police departments… hospitals. People are sleeping an average of 22.5 hours a day in within 50 miles of Chicago. And that number is as low—" _did he say low?_ "As they are only because Nabu is dedicating all of his energies to counteracting the spell that caused this. Meanwhile, the areas in dark red are down to 4 hours of sleep a night and similarly starting to fail."

"Do we know what the cause is yet?" asked Wonder girl, with a muffled yawn.

"It's definitely mystical in nature but an exact source hasn't yet been identified," Nightwing nearly growled. "Could be Woton, Feliz Faust, any of them. No evidence that this is Klarion, but absence of evidence isn't evidence of absence."

"What can we do?" scowled Super Boy.

"Until we get word from the League about the cause? Treat the symptom. Unless one of you has a background in sorcery you haven't shared?" He added with an attempt at humor. "First priority is to get out of the affected area and get some rest. After that we join the League: transporting hospital patients out of the affected area, policing the streets, and providing whatever assistance we can to keep things moving. These areas—" he pointed to the lighter shaded rings, "have had an increase crime rate as less savory people take advantage of police incapacity. But first and foremost we need to keep ourselves prepared. I'll take first shift and hold down the fort while you guys rest."

"Connor and I don't need as much sleep as humans. We'll go now and see what we can do to help." She looked to Superboy for confirmation and he nodded stiffly.

Nightwing nodded in agreement. "Take Sphere." The two humanoids and the ball zeta'd away.

"I hate this," grumbled Mal tersely. "Betrayed by biology."

"'S why we study it. If we knew more about the role of sleep we might have a way to circumvent the broad effects of magic." Karen replied.

"Nice thought, but I'm not convinced research would help—" yawn "—in this situation," Batgirl interjected before rubbing her eyes. "You're sounding well rested considering your location." I glanced at the map and sure enough Ivy Town was pretty deep in the dark red: no wonder classes had been all but canceled.

"Nova makes a knockout tea,"

"Bring any?" Barbra asked me.

"Some, but it'll probably be—" I stretched, "more effective outside of the range."

She glanced at Beast Boy, who seemed to have unintentionally transformed into a sloth, and Robin, who was propping himself up on his staff. "I'll take three to go. Those two are dead on their feet but I doubt they'll sleep effectively considering the uncertain situation."

"Count me in," added Wonder Girl tiredly. "We can crash with my mom. She's on a dig in Greece right now, and it's night there." Barbra smiled thankfully at the offer. "Anyone else?"

"I sleep better underwater," snapped Lagoon Boy more grouchily than usual. "I'll go home." Wonder Girl's sneered at him behind his back.

"I'mma do a once over of current information first, to get ops up quick after I sleep. I've still got a few good hours in me." He joined Nightwing at the virtual console to the computer. Karen indicated she'd stay with him and I seconded, not wanting to fly and unable to zeta.

"I'll be back in seven hours or so to take over from whoever's on duty," Batgirl promised. She picked up Beast Boy and wrapped his sloth arms around her neck. Cassie shyly rousted Robin out of his stupor and the group departed as well.

Forty-three minutes later Nightwing, Mal, and Karen were still pouring over the screens, presumably trying to detect some useful trend other than that the epicenter was Chicago. Lagoon Boy hadn't left either, he seemed to be studying a dot labeled MM currently in Cleveland, in the darkest red ban. He was rubbing the webbing between his fingers in what felt like a nervous gesture.

"Recognize: Zatanna—25," reported the computer.

"Zee, what are you doing here? Did you figure out what's going on? Why didn't you just call?" Nightwing grilled.

"I needed to talk with you," she said urgently. _In person_. Mal shooed Nightwing away and Lagoon Boy hardly took any notice of the new arrival. And the new arrival took no notice of me standing in the corner so I was able to hear her now hushed tones. "It's him."

"Klarion." It wasn't a question. "Why deliver the news in person?"

"Because I need your help. Batman doesn't want me going after him, he's sending Fate."

"I can't change his mind, Zee,"

"I'm not asking you to, I'm asking you to back me."

"You're going to do it anyways," his tone was accepting rather than censuring.

"He's the reason Nabu took my dad,—" she almost addressed Nightwing by name in her distress but remembered her setting.

"Zatara offered himself as Nabu's host," Nighwing reminded her.

"Only because it was the only way Nabu would let me go! And he won't let my dad go until he's not needed to counter Klarion's presence anymore."

"Why don't you agree with Batman's about letting Fate go after Klarion? He's more equipped to handle this than you." He said this without any offence, purely testing her logic.

"Nabu doesn't think containing Klarion is possible, thathe's 'Chaos personified'. He thinks the world need Fate. If I can beat Klarion, prove him wrong… maybe…"

Nightwing nodded in understanding. "What do you need me to do?"

"Just like that?"

"For you, just like that."

"Klarion's casting from the Dream Realm. Magic will still work there, but I'll need a little more time to format my spells. From what I read any miswording has serious repercussions and backlash."

"And you need someone to cover you. You expecting combat?"

"I'm not sure what to expect."

"I want in," Lagoon Boy interjected.

"This was private!" Zatanna snapped.

"If you're seeing action, I want in. If magic works in this place your going there's no reason I shouldn't come." His tattoos glowed as if to emphasize this point. Unstated was the threat to disrupt this covert operation if he was denied.

"I can't promise a safe return," Zatanna warned.

"Good!" Snarled Lagoon Boy happily. "Keeps it interesting. What do we do?"

"Go to sleep," she answered.

"Pffft! I _thought_ we were going after Klarion," he glowered.

"We are. I cast us asleep and I use your dreams to enter the dream realm."

"Well, keep out of my subconscious!"

"Wouldn't dream of entering it," she retorted. "Nightwing, any objections?"

"I'm always happy to have you in my dreams," he said with a wink. Let's do it."

 _His eyes opened to the same room in which he had fallen asleep, a safe house of Red Arrow's that he knew of in Chicago, an ideal location for getting to the heart of the current crisis. Same blank, cracked plaster walls, same cinderblock desk, same broken windows and tattered couch. The plaster had fallen from the ceiling and from the fireplace. He didn't need to check to know the half-off cupboards would be stocked with canned goods, or at least would be if they were really still in the hideout. Roy may not have been taking care of his environment, but he would take care of his body if only to allow him to continue the search for the original Speedy. If the obsession continued much longer, he would have to intervene before his friend lost the will to take care of himself too._

 _But Roy was out searching, which was why the safe house was available and a good place to stay concealed. He needed to focus._

 _Lagoon Boy sat up from his spot on the couch. "It didn't work! What are we still doing here?" Even though everything looked the same, felt the same to the casual observer, it wasn't. And he was no casual observer. The most obvious difference was that the smell of mildew and trash was completely absent. So too was the electrical hum for the derelict refrigerator. In its place was the noise of traffic, people moving, though he couldn't see out the window from his current position. Even visually their setting had changed, if ever so subtly. Everything had a washed-out tint to it, and came into focus too slowly when he turned his head, as if it were taking its time to form. And at least half the items scattered about were mirror images of what they had been._

 _"_ _Relax La'gaan, it did work," he assuaged. He was grateful his mask had transitioned with him into dream world so that he could look upwards, reminding himself to be patient, without his companion seeing. But he had been wearing his sunglasses when he went to sleep, wearing civvies to avoid detection as they traveled through the sluggish city. Now he was in full uniform, something he hadn't initially noticed because of his inspection of the room. But that change should have been clear to La'gaan, cluing him into the truth of their situation. Secretly, he found the change slightly unsettling, though he wasn't quite sure why. He checked his utility belt and found that while the first pouch was empty when he opened it, before he'd put back the flap it had filled with its typical birdarangs. Not good if he needed them instantly, but he supposed this meant infinite ammunition if he could leverage it correctly._

 _"_ _Why are we still here then? Where's Zatanna?" Where_ was _Zatanna? Clearly the spell had worked or else he wouldn't be having the conversation with La'gaan, but maybe Klarion had set up a barrier that had prevented her from entering after she had cast the spell. If that was case they were in a bad spot; he didn't know where to go, what needed to be done to def—_

 _"_ _You called?" Zatanna phased into being in the center of the room, also in uniform. He thoroughly enjoyed her fashion sense, the black jacket with the v-tails over the white v-neck tank top. It showed off her cleavage while still being tasteful. The little detached collar with its white bowtie paid homage to her magician roots but was quirky and flattered her collar bone. It had been fun when she'd let him slide it out of its knot and—but now wasn't the time._

Bout time. _It was La'gaan's voice but his lips hadn't moved. "I didn't mean to say that!"_

 _"_ _You didn't," Zatanna answered, tactfully choosing to ignore his rudeness. Then without moving her lips she said,_ This is the Dream Realm, there's not much difference between verbal thought and speech, which is why it's so tricky for me to cast spells here. _Made sense. He was infinitely glad his own thoughts hadn't cohered into words; Zatanna would have likely forgiven him, but it wouldn't project the proper image to La'gaan._

 _"_ _Can anyone hear us anywhere?" he asked practically. "Any way to communicate without alerting the enemy?"_

 _"_ _I don't know," admitted Zatanna. "'Reality' is what you make of it here. So if we think we shouldn't be heard and the bad guys don't know if we should be heard, we'll be fine."_

 _"_ _The trick is keeping it so that they don't know we're around to be heard. Which we don't know how to do either, except under those same principles…" he pressed his lips together at the paradox._

 _"_ _So basically until we know otherwise, we should behave as we would in any other situation. Got it," summed up La'gann. Well, they didn't have any other information to go off of, might as well follow the protocols that were ingrained into his personality by now. "Where to?"_

 _Instead of answering directly, Zatanna walked over and picked up a compass sitting on the desk that hadn't been there a moment before. Its point listed aimlessly first one direction than another. Not surprisingly there didn't seem to be a 'north' here. "Point us towards Klarion," she command it after a moment of white noise he assumed was her thought process in constructing the spell, wordless like his own observations. The point whipped around with deadly focus to point out the one door of the apartment._

 _"_ _I understood that!" stated La'gaan._

 _"_ _I usually speak my spells backwards but Strange's Principle shows there's no point to doing that here. I can't coherently think through the words to make the spell." He hadn't heard of this particular magic theory, but he trusted her to know her craft._

 _Surprisingly, La'gaan seemed to have heard of it. "I see your point, that means…" he took a second to himself and then started to go into puffer mode. "Yeah, I can work like this."_

 _"_ _Can you make more of those? In case we get separated."_

 _"_ _Good idea," she repeated the process and distributed them. A cord fell out from La'gaan's as he took it and he put it around his neck. She frowned at the transmogrification and after a paused ordered, "Keep your form and place." He felt his own grow heavier, more solid. He trusted as he tucked it into a spare pouch on his belt that it would not disappear. Zatanna held out her compass in front of her. "Shall we?" He nodded, as did La'gaan, and they went out the door._

 _Though they'd entered through the window in the real world, he knew the hallway just outside the apartment should have been a dimly lit and similarly decrepit, not to mention at a right angle. Instead the passageway was straight ahead and luxurious, with golden sconces adorning the walls and ceiling, and a plush red carpet leading up to two large heavy oak doors at the end. The walls themselves had intricate crown molding and chair rails separated by wooden arches with ivory and gold patterned wall paper. He didn't recognize it, but by Zee's crinkled brow she did. She led the way and pushed open the doors._

 _Unlike their last room transition, this one felt natural. On the other side was an ample theater with enough seating for maybe five hundred people. He could only guess at the number as there was a second tier above them. There were two more entrances, one to either side of them as well. The ceiling lights were off as if there were a show in progress, but the sides of the chairs were lit and his eyes followed them down to two exits to the left and right of the stage._

 _The stage. There was a ramp down it that allowed access to the middle aisle, and lights all around it from the floor, though they were off at the moment. The majority of the light in the entire room came from the catwalks above the stage. They light the wooden floor and the burgundy velvet curtain with gold trim that framed it. There wasn't anything on the stage in terms of props. Just a magician, top hat and yellow vest under his black tux, juggling random objects that changed each time the magician threw them. He had some experience in sleight of hand and could tell the magician was using skill rather than the laws of this place to make the changes, though the old objects didn't stay in his sleeve after he'd made the quick transfer._

 _But then the magician spotting their little group, and the objects, just then two balls, a bowling pin, a knife, and a rubber chicken, clattered to the floor. His mouth opened in speechlessness under this thick black mustache and astonishment and joy were drawn all over his angular face. They shouldn't have been able to hear him from where they stood, but the word was crystalline when he uttered it. "Zatanna?"_

DAD! _his friend exclaimed! She raced down the aisle and hurtled herself into an embrace. Last time either of them had seen Zatara, she barely reached his chest in terms of height, now she easily buried her head into her father's shoulder and clung to him. He hugged her back, and the lighting made the tears in his eyes glitter. Nighwing gave them a moment of privacy by walking down to the stage, rather than watch the scene, and La'gaan followed. The pair stood like that for a moment before Zatara held his daughter out._

 _"_ _What are you doing here? You shouldn't be here." He said sternly, voice heavy with worry._

 _"_ _Klarion's here, casting a spell that's massively disrupted the sleep distribution."_

 _"_ _Yes, yes, I know about that, but what are_ you _doing here? Why can I touch you?_ "

 _"_ _I used the spell from the Petrikov book."_

 _The worry lines deepened. "You must go back. It's too dangerous."_

 _"_ _Dad, I'm not a little girl any more, I can make my own choices." The look Zatara gave his daughter was so full of sorrow for the lost days that Nightwing couldn't look at it._

 _"_ _So I see," he whispered. Then his voice strengthened. "But I'm still your father. You aren't prepared for this the way Nabu is."_

 _Nightwing wondered why Fate's host didn't contact the Lord of Order himself if he was so intent on them leaving, but it stood to reason that with all the energy Fate was expending in the physical world, he couldn't spare the attention for a voice he'd likely tuned out after so many years of possession._

 _Zatara continued, "You don't even know that I'm really me."_

 _"_ _Of course your my dad," Zatanna whispered with fierce conviction._

 _"_ _I am, but you didn't confirm it. Only some of the people here are souls, most are beings of this plane who may take any form. Repeat this spell: 'Laer eht laever' ."_

 _"_ _Reveal the real," she repeated with power. All four of them glowed briefly with a different light. Zatara with a dark silver, Zatanna a pale ivory speckled with gold, La'gaan a vivid green and himself a midnight blue. An assistant with silky blond hair in a stunning red dress standing in the wings did not glow at all._

 _"_ _Strange's Principle," Zatara said understandingly after hearing her forward speech. "But even with that spell, you are in too much danger here. If I can touch you, anyone can. If you are captured, at best you will be unable to ever awake." The magician didn't mention what death would mean, but Nightwing would be surprised if it meant anything less here given this information. And Zatara's phrasing made it seem like there were other perils he did not want to draw attention to._

 _"_ _Then we won't be captured," she answered with assurance._

 _"_ _It's not like she didn't bring back up," La'gaan added._

 _"_ _I appreciate you coming to look after my little girl, but this is foolishness."_

 _"_ _Dad, I can do this. We can do this. I know a way to trap him, at least for a while. That way…" she trailed off but her thoughts finished her sentence,_ Nabu will let you go.

 _"_ _Oh mia cucciola," he squeezed her hands in his. "I made my choice."_

 _"_ _And I'm making mine. I have to try."_ It's my— _she managed to stop the thought before it finished, looking down sharply._

 _"_ _It is not your fault, my darling Zatanna, never think that." He sighed. "Do not think you must do this, but if I cannot convince you to go, please at least heed my advice. Do not make this decision without knowing what you are facing."_

 _"_ _Of course, Dad."_

 _Zatara went on to explain about how things worked there, and what was going on. It was fortunate the magician had been the first one they'd encountered, but not terribly surprising according to the laws of the realm. Thought and belief had a heavy influence here and Zatanna had been thinking about her father, thus leading them to him._

 _Turned out that the Dream Realm wasn't just a place of dreams. It was a way point between different planes of existence. When a consciousness was wandering it always passed through here given enough time, and that most often happened during sleep, thus giving the place its name. Most souls just passed through, but those with no place to go, the comatose, the possessed, were waylaid here, explaining Zatara presence. Many of the 'people' here, though, were Figments. That didn't make them less a complete mind, but it meant they were confined to this place and that they were malleable to the influence of those passing through. Zatara's assistant was one such Figment currently going by the name Irinda. She had been most heavily influence by Houdini and was forever trying to expand her knowledge of stage magic. Thus she was taking refuge in the section of the Dream Realm that had shaped itself for Zatara. Though Zatara himself had no magic here, because of his role as Fate's host, that same position had afforded some protected to the area around him from the troubles Klarion had been brewing._

 _Which were essentially these: he was mining Possibility. Possibility was the substance that gave the Dream Realm its properties, that made it a gateway between realms and allowed new creation. Some amount of Possibility leached out into concrete realities and manifested itself in various ways—an inspired invention, a breathtaking new piece of art, a breakthrough discovery. Klarion's aim, as far as Zatara had been able to ascertain, was to harness astronomical quantities of the substance, though for purpose he could only speculate. Some amount was an essential element of all magic, but no casting he could conceive of required the amounts Klarion was gathering._

 _The reason for the sleep distribution disruption in their reality was that Klarion couldn't directly interact with the stuff himself. The Possibility of the realm was attracted to and shaped by the open-mindedness and flexibility of the people who passed through. As a Lord of Chaos, Klarion might deploy a pantheon of unpredictable and cruelly creative means, but they all stemmed from the same ridged nature. Such blind purpose was an anathema to Possibility and destroyed it on contact._

 _So Klarion had done the next best thing: subcontracted. Dreamers were the most able to interact with and manipulate Possibility, but were intangible and directionless while here, which meant is should have been impossible for Klarion to do what he was doing. Somehow, Klarion had found a way anchor dreamers to the Dream Realm and force them into doing his work. It involved the corruption of the Figments, but beyond that Zatara had been unable to learn more. And if that weren't enough, there were things a lot worse than corrupted Figments—Nightmares. Some had chosen to work with Klarion, but even those that had not were dedicated to causing fear in despair in all who crossed their paths._

 _The reason Zatara wanted them to leave was that unlike the captured dreamers, Zatanna's spell had virtually severed their tether to reality. That was why they could physically interact with Zatara, and any other persons, and why they had the volition necessary to countermine Klarion. But this necessity had made them more vulnerable to attack and capture than the dreamers, who thanks to Fate's continued efforts were waking at least temporarily, stymieing progress._

 _During the explanation of this exposition, Nightwing couldn't help but reflect on how much one took the framework of the world for granted. It wasn't until that framework changed that one realized how heavily one depended upon it. The same principle applied not only to the laws of the universe, but also to things as simple as conversations. If two people didn't have the same points of reference, conversation got bogged down in explanation real fast, which often caused communication to be as much if not more trouble than it was worth. More introverted people would abandon attempts to convey essential intel if they didn't feel they could adequately do so. Batman's stressing of the importance of gathering a broad knowledge base usually allowed him to integrate and adapt into any new situation that arose. But this, this was one of those times he just had to start from scratch._

 _Not surprisingly even knowing the risks, not one of them suggested they go back._

 _They strategies, said their farewells, and set off._

 _The only other notable moment was that just before exiting stage left, Nightwing heard a thought from Zatara directed only at him._

 _"_ _Take care of my little girl."_

 _He looked back and replied like his mentor before him, "You have my word," before shutting the door behind them._

 _"_ _You two go!" He shouted. Things_ had _been going well. Emphasis on the past tense. They'd avoided patrols of guards equipped with everything from slingshots to lasers, the cave-ins of scenery caused by the removal of Possibility, and even a sentient lava pit. But then La'gaan had seen the spirit of a friend, Topo—an octopodian headed, shy Atlantian who was often picked on and abused at home—being whipped with fire into working. Once Zatanna had established that he was who he appeared, La'gaan had refused to move on until he had saved the squid. They'd succeeded too, but at the cost of their secrecy. Now they were pinned down by a legion of trident-wielding, energy-blasting Figments. Zatanna was working at spelling open the magically locked metal cast door that was their only exit, but her concentration was continuously interrupted by new blasts, making progress slow. Nightwing was convinced the only reason they hadn't been overrun completely was that the area around them had a sense of dramatic tension and would occasionally cause a block to collapse on the ranks. Even when they got the damned thing open though, it was a clear shot from the other side of the room into the tunnel. Someone would have to stay behind and provide cover._

 _There were so many reasons to let La'gaan to do it. It was his fault they were in this mess, and he'd be better able to fend off the attack with his increased durability and hydrokinesis. And La'gaan was itching for a proper fight rather than the lobbing of projectiles they were doing from behind the pillars acting as temporary cover. But he wasn't confident in La'gaan's ability to get back to them, and La'gaan was his charge. Letting La'gaan stay was their best chance at overall success, but the risks were prohibitively high._

 _It wasn't quite the same as when he_ had _sent his friends a suicide mission, but it was too close. And though that had been a simulation, he hadn't known it at the time of his choice, and it had ended in all of their deaths, necessary though it had been. He couldn't do it again, couldn't commit someone else to such uncertainty, even if it was the smart choice. Not when his chances were only slightly worse._

 _A blast ricocheted off the wall behind them and into the pillar, only barely missing La'gaan's head. He opened his belt pouch, peaked around the corner, and threw a foam-producing pellet at the shooter. He could hear it bubble up, enveloping shooter and cutting off that angle, but he didn't see it, having ducked back into cover._

 _"_ _I've just about got it!" exclaimed Zatanna. "When you two are ready." She hadn't registered that he was going to stay._

 _But La'gaan had, and of course he argued, "You go, I've got this."_

 _Nightwing shook his head, his sweat soaked bangs sticking to his forehead, "I'm trusting you to make sure this mission is a success. You'll see plenty of action ahead, I'm sure." La'gaan gave a reluctant nod. "I need a moment to make sure all my equipment is here, and then I'll draw their fire. I'll lose them and use the compass to catch up with you."_

 _"_ _I'll keep them occupied in the meantime," said La'gaan, rolling to a neighboring column and sending water out in a wave perpendicular to his roll._

 _Now done with the heavily lifting on the door, Zatanna had realized his plan. "You sure about this?" she asked, but as a confirmation, not as a plea for a better way, a way for them not to be separated. He wasn't sure, but he was master enough over his own thoughts to hide that, even here. "Thank you," she whispered putting a hand to his face. And then she leaned in and kissed him softly on the lips. He returned it firmly but briefly, appreciating the gesture, but his mind was on making sure everything had manifested itself so he wouldn't have to think about using it in the moment._

 _And then it was time._

 _Only the zen of combat, of tactics, of years of practice, kept his mind off of the fact though this was the right choice, was his choice, was necessary, he was still being left behind. Still being left alone in the dark._


	17. 17: Worst Dreams, Best Nightmares

**AN** : Hey all. This is as far as I've gotten so far. I'm trying to get a scene done every few days, but as there are several scenes per chapter, this takes a little time. I'm a busy(ish) grad student and I don't have time to get onto the page the ideas that are in my head. I'm gonna try to update as often as I have stuff for you, but I wouldn't expect more frequently from a chapter ever two weeks at best and probably closer to every 3-4 weeks.

In the meantime, I love new reviews, new follows, new favorites. Particularly the reviews. It helps me get new ideas of where to take the story. I've got some general points mapped out but there's a lot that still needs stitching together. So if you are enjoying and want more story sooner, the best thing you can do is tell me you want more, tell me what you're enjoying, and what I can do better.

Chapter 17

 _The world cohered and dechohered on and off. Part of that was just the nature of the place, but too much of it was his inability to focus. Only two things stayed consistent: the smog around his mind and a soft guitar song_ _ **[1]**_ _he recognized but couldn't name. He didn't have the energy to decipher it._

 _In the brief moments of clarity that bit in through the fog, he fought to organize his thoughts and hold them in place against its return. He'd been captured. But that was to be expected. He'd been outnumbered and in an impossible tactical situation._

Blankness.

 _But they hadn't killed him. Which meant there was still plenty of opportunity for escape. Probably even a better chance now that there were few of them._

Murk.

 _He'd finally been brought down by something with the effects of a tranq dart but the punch of a bat. Part of the contingent had gone after Zee and La'gaan, only a few had stayed with him. His hands were shackled and there was a chain collar around his neck._

Obscurity.

 _Three Figments in front of him, two behind, the one immediately ahead holding the leash. They were dressed in the garb of the League of Shadows now, though their brief moments of internal chatter made it clear they were taking the form from his experience. No League assassin would speak as much in front of a captive. They didn't keep captives._

 _The next bout was only a mild haze and he managed to keep his bearings. Whatever they had used was wearing off. They were in a dense forest now, the dense canopy barely admitting any ambient light and certainly no beams. The terrain was rocky and uneven though, and in the span of a few minutes they passed several openings that might be caves. Between the arbores and the outcrops he'd be able to lose his escort._

 _But he wasn't sure this was the place to do so. Ever hair on his body stood on end and it felt like leaches were squirming down his spine. The leaves blew against the wind and made no noise. Nothing made noise. Except for the guitar song, which was a long way off, if it even existed. He didn't put it past this place to have one beautiful thing to lure the unwary deeper._

 _The only other sounds, as he had noted before, were the bits of conversation from the Figments. He hadn't been able to understand what they'd been saying at first, but now that everything was sharper he was able to recognize snatches of it. They didn't speak in one language, they spoke in many, switching several times mid-sentence and occasionally mid word. But he knew enough languages to know they were taking him to a mining camp. That they'd be rewarded handsomely for such a permanent worker. Rewarded with the ability to control their own form and future, at least for a while, and not be at the mercies of those who they encountered. They craved independence from the constant foreign influence to themselves, and saw this new foreign entity as an escape. The enemy of my enemy is my friend. He doubted they'd get what they were looking for, but he supposed as long as they were working for Klarion they had a stable influence, which might be reprieve enough._

 _Whether or not this forest was an ideal place to run off into, he might not have much of a choice. From the sounds of it they were approaching their destination where he'd be passed off to higher security measures. Now was the best chance he was going to get for a while._

 _They'd taken his belt, but it could be reimagined given the time. They hadn't taken his gloves, into which his lock picks were build. Hunching over to hide his movements, he twitched his fingers in the pattern that caused them to pop out. He fiddled with the lock around his wrist, keeping his eyes up. He could do this blind folded, looking would only make his efforts apparent. It should have taken only a few moments for even an 8 pin-3 false gate lock, but this mechanism changed under his efforts. Every time he got a pin, the entire mechanism changed. But it had a pattern to it. It took a good thirty tries, but eventually he was able to predict the next shift well enough to respond appropriately and at last the catch turned. He bit down the smile—he loved a good challenge._

 _He waited until they rounded a blind corner so that those in front of him couldn't coordinate with those behind. He whipped off the shackle and bolo-threw it at the neck of the one holding his tether. The heavy metal wrapped around the man's throat, it's momentum carrying him back. He dropped the chain and Nightwing coiled it towards him, swinging the loose end. As he did so, it grew steadily heavier, but he took little notice except to adjust the force he applied. He turned and swung it at the guard immediately behind him, knocking him down. A twig on the grown behind him snapped and he crouched as he turned, ducking under the blow that had been aimed at his head and sweeping the legs of next assailant. The rear guard made a lunge at the chain now trailing on the ground in front of him. Nightwing rolled to it first grabbing it and continuing his momentum til he was able to spring onto the guy's back. He wrapped the chain around the other's windpipe and crushed it. The man when limp under him and he pushed off the body to face the final captor, who was just now coming back around the bluff. If he could knock down this last guy on this side of the rocks, it would give him enough time to disappear into the forest. He could see the first three still incapacitated in the intervening space._

 _The final man rounded the corner and locked eyes with Nightwing. He pulled out a katana from hammer space and Nightwing began to swing the chain, preparing to use it to block and disarm. The other man lunged, but before Nightwing could react, there was a tap on his back and with a great jolt he fell, paralyzed. His face was sideways in the mud, but out of the corner of his eye he could see the man whose wind pipe he'd crushed standing behind him. Of course. These were Figments. They didn't need to breath. He didn't even know for sure if they could be properly killed, let alone how. Stupid. Stupidstupidstupidstupid. But at least now he knew. He was already planning on how to use this new information in his next break for freedom._

 _"_ _That was too close," said the one he'd never managed to attack as the other three got up. The one behind Nightwing nodded vehemently. His injuries might not have incapacitated him, but it seemed to have rendered him mute._

 _"_ _Should we…?" tailed off the one who had been holding the chain._

 _"_ _It could attract attention," another said disapprovingly._

 _"_ _No one comes in this deep. Besides we're close."_

 _"_ _If we're close enough that we don't have to worry about competition then we're close enough not to have to resort to that."_

 _"_ _Yeah, but if he gets away in the meantime he'll end up killing himself in there, and then we'll have nothing."_

 _"_ _But it could damage him and make him useless anyways."_

 _"_ _This one's more solid than the rest. He'll come through it, only lots more manageable."_

 _The group looked to the one who had been leading. He looked into Nightwing's eyes and saw the fierce spirit, the determination to escape at all costs. "Let's do it."_

 _Two of them came over. One rolled him onto his back and they each grabbed an arm, towing him to the rock face where they propped him up. The leader pulled out a palm-sized wooden box with symbols scrawled across it. They slithered and morphed, never staying in a single configuration and the air around it vibrated. He placed the lid against Nightwing's forehead. It was icy to the touch and would have made him shiver if he hadn't been paralyzed. The inability to do so intensified the box's effects. Still, he could fight this he could—_

 _The leader clapped his hands and—_

The door to Yardley's creaked a little more than usual as it yielded to his push. The rain had caused the wood to swell. Absentmindedly he shook the water off his hair as he let the door swing shut behind him, giving it a little tap with his foot to overcome its stickiness. Harris was ready to take his jacket and gave him a wink as he handed it off: lot of beautiful women in attendance tonight.

He couldn't remember how he'd gotten here, to his favorite club in the south end of Gotham. They didn't card but the clientele were classy. His lack of memory should have been concerning, considering how usually he was usually hyperaware, but it wasn't. Yardley's was a place to relax, a place to throw off the responsibilities of his… it wasn't a job. Duties? It didn't matter; he was someone else entirely here. Dan, Rob, Matt, Tom. Anyone but the person upon whom so many lives depended. Bruce might be able to bear that burden all the time but…

No, not here. It was a good thing he couldn't seem to care about how he'd ended up at the bar for the night. The only thing that came to mind when he tried was a song he thought he'd heard on the way in, but it was very, very faint and the deep beat of the dance music[2] quickly overwhelmed it, and its own lyrics for that matter.

Harris hadn't been kidding. The ratio of guys to girls was nearly 1:6, and all the ladies were smoking. Figuratively, not literally of course, in either use of the word. He settled down into his usual stool at the end of the bar to see who came his way, sitting parallel to the bar to get the best vantage of the entire room. He got a wave from Alice, the Latina English grad student who was always a reliable fallback for company sitting at her usual booth. Red-headed Lindsey the dog walker dropped off a beer for him, sliding her fingers across his back as she past him and onto a gaggle of friends at the other end of the bar. Bombshell-blond Nora was shaking it on the dance floor and indicated he should come join her with a salacious drop move. You'd never know she was a paralegal by the way she acted here. He smiled back and indicated he might in a bit. She half-shrugged, half pouted and turned away, displaying one of her best features in an attempt to tempt him.

He knew them all already. He'd seek one or another out at the end of the night if no one new showed interest, but he didn't come here just for the physical gratification and the atmosphere. The people here were so vivid; each new life was a new adventure, but a tame one, a frivolous one. Here he could always find something intimate, but never serious. The people were real, but the relationships weren't. No one was hurt or offended by his inclination towards brief and bright passions. And generally the girls were so happy to have someone to listen to them that they didn't ask him for a story in return.

A girl that he didn't recognize took the stool next to him. She was tall for a woman, about an inch taller than him. Her full brunette curls were pinned back in a style he didn't have a name for, framing her angular face and deep green eyes. She wore a dress of his favorite blue that hugged her curves and showed off her chest. The slit at the bottom created a visual lead down her milky legs. At first she showed no interest in him, so he let her sip her Dark and Stormy in peace. When she set it down empty, the bartender Mickey asked if she wanted another almost instantly. She bit her ruby red lips and peaked inside her silver clutch purse. He rapped the bar indicating he'd pick up the tab and Mickey turned to mix the drink.

"Thanks." He smiled in return but didn't say anything. These encounters always went best when they chose him. "I'm Chelsea."

"Alex," he chose on the spur of the moment.

She gave a little intake of breath, "I thought it must be you."

That didn't make sense. He hadn't given that name here before, hadn't thought of it until a second ago.

"I think you have me confused with someone," he hazarded, but in a friendly, non-affronted sort of way.

"No. I'm _quite_ sure you're the one I'm looking for." She said sensually, sliding her tongue over her lips at the end.

He shrugged, a little nonplussed, but he'd tried. If she was still interested, that was her choice.

"What'cha do outside of this place?" he asked instead, conversationally.

She rolled his eyes at him. "I didn't come here to talk about _that_. You should know better." He did. After all life was the last thing he wanted to bring up. But still, it didn't strike the right note. It sounded like she thought the entire notion was ridiculous.

"Plenty of people do, though. Ask Alice—" he indicated with a nod of his head. Not good to bring a girl's attention to other women most of the time, but her focus was quite intense as it was. "—about her thesis. It's fascinating stuff."

Chelsea let out a peeling, bubbling laugh. "They were right!"

A kernel of concern seeded in the pit of his stomach. "Right about what?"

"You actually think _that's_ what they are to you. And what you are for them. It's _hilarious_." She put her hand in front of her mouth to cover her smile. "Don't worry, I'm sure you'll get the joke soon," she whispered as she leaned in closer and slid her hand up his jean-covered thigh. Even though her conversation made him wary, his body still reacted to her touch and he found himself leaning in as well.

He didn't know how to answer her though, "We're friends." It came out a _lot_ huskier than he'd intended...

"You're adorable." Now she slid a finger along his cheekbone and down to his mouth. She traced his lips before putting it in a shushing symbol. "I know what you're thinking. You're thinking: 'Each relationship is respectful, special, just as long as it needs to be.' Fills in a little more of the emptiness in your soul."

It was exactly what he was thinking, and he should have been alarmed. But the only feeling he could muster was ardor at her heady scent as he stared into the emerald eyes.

"It's exactly what I'd expect from the boy who never picks the same name twice." She leaned in and kissed him, slipping her tongue into his mouth. He wrapped his hands around her, responding eagerly. She bit his lip and pulled away, and he followed.

"Get it now?" she asked.

He shook his head involuntarily. The taste of her consumed him, all he wanted was more. But some part of him knew it was wrong. All wrong. And not the same wrong as this sort of thing usually was.

"There it is!" she exclaimed gleefully. She slid off her chair and straddled herself over his lap. His awareness of the surroundings melted away. She kissed his neck and in between kisses she said to him, "That knowledge. That hollow feeling, right there. How your liaisons carve away the pieces of you you don't like, don't want." She breathed a laugh onto is tender skin. "But the knowledge that that's all you have, and in the end you'll be nothing. That at best you're trading one lie of a life for another." She paused to laugh against his lips. "It's so _funny_ how you tell yourself you're filling some need. The only thing you're filling is some lucky girl's pussy, fuckboy."

Real fear slid around his mind now stinging like hail needles. But not his body. She pulled away again, and slid her sleeves off her shoulders. She arched her back, and her full bosom was barely held in place. His head was pulled towards it like a magnet when all rationally told him get away from this girl. He didn't know what was going on, and he was never, never this senseless. He couldn't cope with the pleasure his body was drowning him in while trapped within a cage of nauseous dread.

"Good dog." She said as he heeled to her alluring pull. "Dan, Rob, Matt, Tom… _Alex,"_ she whispered. "Time to live up to your real name, fuckboy, for soon that's—" a kiss to his cheek. "All," a kiss to the side of his mouth. "You'll," a kiss to the hollow at the base of his neck. "Have" a deep, breathy kiss onto is mouth that left him panting with lust. "Left," she finished. And with that she slid her hands into his pants. His own hands were at her breasts, her face, drawn like a dehydrated man to an oasis, unable to get enough of her silky soft skin.

Through his moans one voice cut through from the entrance, a woman's. A voice he hadn't heard in ten years.

"You said we could find our son here?"

…

"Over here, Mary! John, come see how you're boy's grown." Chelsea's smile was radiant as the sun.

He was frozen in place with his hands all over this stranger and her hands in his pants. His blood fought to both flush his face with embarrassment and drain it white with mortification. He'd dreamt of seeing his parents again, every night since their death at the hands of Zucco and still every month since he'd brought the man to justice. But never like this.

"Where?" His mother's gaze swept the room as she and his father wandered into the club, but her eyes didn't land on him. He wanted to be grateful, escape before they could see him like this. But he was devastated that they didn't recognize him instantly, the way he'd known it was her from the first syllable. Still he turned his head away in shame.

"Oh come now, don't you recognize your boy. He's grown, I know, but he's still your son," Chelsea taunted. She squeezed and he let out an involuntary groan.

His parents were looking right at him now. "Him? That can't be our son. Is this some sort cruel joke?"

She laughed again, "Exactly right!"

"What sort of person would falsely offer parents chance to see their child!" his father exclaimed, holding his mother close. She was shaking.

"No no no!" She corrected in a drawl, drawing attention to where her hands had been by taking one out and brushing his hair. "See, that's the real joke. It's _not_ a false offer." She patted him on the head. And he preened. "This is Richard Grayson. Show them your face, won't you, pet." His head turned against his will until he could see the disgust, disappointment, an outrage etched in every line of their expressions.

"Mom, Dad, I –" he started.

"—did I say you could speak?" Chelsea cut off. But his mother had recognized the cadence in his voice and was weeping now.

"Mary," John said to his wife, "This isn't real, isn't him. I cannot believe this. Let's go." It was. It was him. How could they not know? But he didn't want them to know, couldn't bear to have them think this is what had become of him.

"He sounded so like… but I can't tell, with that mask on. I just can't tell. And how could this be…?"

He tried to push Chelsea off but couldn't, he could only move his hands towards his face, to the mask. He shouldn't have been wearing it to the club, but there it was. He tried to pull it off but it was continuous with his skin. Chelsea traced her finger down the bridge of his nose and he could feel it as if there were no fabric intervening.

"This is just a lie, a cruel, malicious trick. Let's get out of here. That's not our son." His father pulled his mother away towards the exit.

"Wait!" he called out, despite everything, desperate to have one real moment with them. He didn't know how this was possible and he didn't care. He couldn't let them go like this. "Mom, Dad, don't—!"

But they were gone.

"Tough break, pet, I'd say you just got disowned. Not surprising with your behavior." The heat between them was gone now, but she was still on his lap, now tracing his chest muscles. He felt sick. He wanted to beat her. He wanted to curl up alone and cry. "Either option is fine," she assured him, unnervingly reading his intention once again. "But may I make a suggestion?" She pulled out a dagger from her cleavage, one that he was sure hadn't been there during his fondling.

"You're not a Greyson anymore. You should give back their gift of flight, if you're intent on sullying it so." She meant acrobatics, soaring through the air. The one thing that still tied him to his family.

She was right.

She licked the blade and placed its point just above his right elbow. Her eyebrow raised, waiting for him. With his opposite hand he pushed the dagger into his skin, severing the median nerve that innervated the muscles he used to grip the bar, the ring, the rope, his past. His hand relaxed. "Shall I do the other one?" He nodded robotically and she did.

"Thanks for the grand time," she whispered as she kissed him sweetly on the lips. "I haven't had this much fun in ages. And it's not over yet."

And then she was gone. The club was gone, the music was gone. He was in the bat cave. Dripping wet. Most of it was water, but his hands. Though his grip strength was gone, he held the dagger in his right. And it and everything up to his wrists were covered in blood.

Alfred was there.

"Master Richard, what on earth happened?"

"I… I don't know…" he stammered.

The cave entrance opened and Bruce paced in. "He crossed the line."

"Whatever do you mean, Master Wayne?"

"He went after Zucco's daughter, Chelsea. I knew Zucco was up for parole early but…" his mentor was at a loss for words. Bruce was never at a loss for words.

"Surely not."

"There's video footage, Alfred."

Alfred spoke, mostly to himself, "Where did I go wrong? I tried this time, I did. I tried to be a father to him." Alfred _had_ been like a father to him, Bruce too. They'd taken him in when he had nowhere else to go. No one could replace his parents but Alfred and Bruce had eased the pain, made it possible to survive their loss. They'd given him closure.

He tried to say as much, but he couldn't. He couldn't believe he had forgotten about his adoptive family during his encounter with the succubus. "The only reason I allowed his training, Master Wayne, was so that another would not be consumed by such tragedy as yours, but now?"

"I know, Alfred," Bruce answered gruffly, wanting to be comforting though there was no comfort to be had. "I don't understand either. Dick?"

Nothing made sense. He remembered everything at the bar and then… nothing. But flashes were coming to him now. Of the body going limp on his lap as he pushed the dagger into her belly. Of her farewell wink. Had Bruce said she was Zucco's daughter? His mind raced for an explanation. But it was floundering and the only sound that came out of his mouth was a strangled gurgle.

"Master Richard?" He couldn't respond, though he tried desperately to. Any way he could think of. He couldn't tap, he couldn't blink, he couldn't alter his breathing.

"Shock," said Bruce gruffly, "or something more?" He came over and tried to pull off the mask to check his ward's pupils. He flinched at the yank.

Bruce picked up the limp form like he hadn't since Dick had been ten, and carried him over to an examination bench. A beam of light traced over him before the computer started to beep frantically.

"It's a toxin, only loosely related to anything the computer's seen," Bruce read out.

"There is an antidote, I trust?" Alfred asked worriedly.

"Of a sort." The voice was heavier that he'd ever heard of. "It's a low, painful death."

"…you mean to say?"

"There's no way to save him from this. The toxin. His actions. The wisest course of action is…"

Silence.

"I understand."

No. He was fine. He wasn't in pain. Well, maybe a little now that he raised the question. Increasingly so. But he hadn't done those things. Had he? Had that been his parents? Had he made up the evening at the bar with Chelsea, a way to justify his murder? If he had, he deserved this. But had he? Would they really desert him?

Black tentacles emerged from his mask and bound him, leaving only his now-useless hands free. The table was tipping forward and then he was sliding towards the fall.

But he felt in his core this was to be different from every fall he'd had before. This time there was no grappling hook, no parachute, no flying friend, no safety net. This was the fall that had killed his parents. This was the fall that would kill him. And he would die alone.

As he slipped off the table, the last tentacle covered his eyes, leaving him in absolute darkness as he entered the spinning abyss.

But there was that melody again[3], growing louder.

Comforting him in a place no comfort should have existed.

A heartbeat.

Then two.

…

 _Gotcha_

 _With a jerk, Nightwing opened his eyes and closed them immediately as the now blackened box on his head splintered into ash and dust. It stuck to the cold sweat that covered him wherever his skin was exposed. He tried to take the deep breath of air his body demanded, but his lungs were still stuck in the shallow patterns of sleep and locked in response._

 _He couldn't remember much of what he'd just experienced. Merely… impressions. Escapism, intimacy, emptiness, fear, helplessness, rejection, worthlessness, abandonment, doubt, despair._

 _And then utter relief. The feeling of guilt for being late, but also infinite gratitude that of not being irreparably so._

 _And his arms. He wasn't paralyzed anymore, but couldn't close his hands. That shocked him. His hands were more than an extension of himself, it was more than losing a limb. They were an integral part of his personality, his being. And he had the awful impression that this was somehow his fault._

 _But his training held; he had survival to attend to._

 _His first attention was dedicated to evaluating where his captors were. All five were standing around him in a semi-circle, weapons, katanas and scimitars, drawn, but lowered. Each face was deadly serious and if he didn't know better, wary. But they weren't looking at him. They're gaze was directed several feet over his head._

 _He looked up and what he saw immobilized him with fear. He'd seen monsters and he'd seen monsters, but to look upon this creature was akin to looking at a basilisk or medusa. Even the trees, even the air, around it quavered at the unbridled ferocity of the thing._

 _Though the rock face above him mostly blocked his view, he could clearly see its front limbs braced, if you could say you saw this thing clearly. Its outline never stayed still or sharp; it was constantly roiling. Its claws hooked over the edge but their numbers and sizes were constantly shifting. Overall it seemed to be crouched down, ready to spring off the perch. It had no face that he could see, just the same blackness that made up all of its body. But it wasn't just blackness, it was the absence of anything. Shadow incarnate. The space around it appeared warped, as if struggling to remain in existence against this uncanny force._

 _So this is what his imprisoners had meant about not wanting to attract unwanted attention._

 _If push came to shove, he might need to throw in his lot with them, if he saw the chance. He liked those odds of survival far better, despite what they had just put him through. Every nerve, every instinct, screamed that this… this thing…was bent on total and absolute annihilation. The men, they were at least men, or Figments, but close enough. Closer by far than this thing could ever be. And they were acting like they at least had an idea of how to deal with it._

 _"_ _We have no quarrel with you!" Called up the leader, and it impressed Nightwing that his voice barely shook despite this thing's aura. The voice sounded too sharp, out of place in the soundless, dead air that surrounded them. "Let us take our captive and we will let you be." The one on the end was fumbling for something in his belt, a flashlight it seemed._

 _The air pulsed with pressure that shook him in his bones and still there was not a noise. He involuntarily put his hands to his ears against the lack of sound, as did the man trying to get out the flashlight. The black space that made up creatures arms rippled like farrofluid_ _ **[4]**_ _._

 _"_ _Not this one," the leader said with conviction. His companion succeeded in freeing his light and switched it on, throwing luminance against the creature. It lifted one limb, pulling back against the beam, but the vibration in the air that he now recognized as a growl continued. The leader gave a nod to a different man and he too got out a light, this time a lantern, and a third another flashlight. One with a flashlight crept forward, keeping his eyes lifted and moving slowly. About half way to him, the creature put its limb back down and uttered another of its soundless snarls._

 _The man paused. The others moved closer to him, concentrating the light from the lantern. He took another step._

 _The air was sucked from his lungs as the creature leapt down between him and the encroacher. Its stance was defensive, still compact, coiled, ready to spring. Its arms were held out to either side now, still rippling with a constantly changing direction and number and of spikes. The substance on its back did the same. Growing and churning like waves in a storm. Sometimes forming large barbs that hooked over its arms like scorpion tails and sometimes spreading out into an almost bat-like wing structure and back again. From this angle there was some definition to the head, longer sheets of the substance that whipped like a flag in a hurricane. Its size was inconsistent, but had it been standing erect he was sure it would loom a solid foot and a half above anyone here. Over its shoulder he could see the man's face; terrified but determined, confident in his defense. He darted in with the light, then back again out of range, driving the creature to the right. Its shift exposed a gap at which the other flashlight-bearer dashed. The creature turned what would have been its face that way. The first guard tried to recapture its attention, but the moment his would-be rescuer tried to inch towards him, the creature lunged._

 _It was clear the man was trying to scream, but the sound was sucked up by thing pinning him against the rocks. He had dropped his light and it had rolled towards Nightwing. But it was still out of reach, even assuming he could hold it with his lifeless hands. The creature put an inky limb against its victim's chest and it flowed into a cage around him, absorbing first his clothing and soon his skin. Leaning back, it flung the still shaking man behind his fellows._

 _The one who had been trying to corral the thing took the opportunity to get behind it and shine the light directly at the small of its back. It arched in agony, uttering no sound. But where the beam had struck, its matter was making a horrible slurping hiss and dripping. It wheeled, knocking the light from the man's hand with a wing approximation that extended beyond what should have been its reach. An arm followed and swarmed around the guy, lifting him up into the air. Like his fellow, he couldn't utter a sound, but his body language spoke volumes. It convulsed and writhed but the creature showed no signs of putting him down. He tried harder to shriek and then something_ was _coming out of his mouth. The same black substance of the creature. It crawled up his throat and dove into his eyes, nose, and ears. The flesh beneath it melted as if burning plastic. The effect spread outwards towards his extremities until all at once the thing that had been a man evaporated like smoke._

 _The entity returned to a more central position while the Figments stood momentarily shocked. Its body heaved as if it was panting, but its stance remained primed for action._

 _The leader gathered himself first, taking out a flare and lighting it. "Very impressive. But I can see how much it took out of you. Leave. Now. You with your life, us with the man. You can't do that again. Not to all of us."_

 _There was no ripple in the air as a reply. Instead, without changing position, the creature reached out with a forelimb. It stretched, farther and farther, new blackness oozing to extend the range. One of them had dropped the lantern, easily twice as bright as the flashlights though not quite as bright as the flare. It was this for which the creature aimed. The faceless attention stayed fixed on the leader as deliberately, it covered the lantern in something resembling a hand. Once again its surface made that bubbling sizzle and evaporated off in reaction to the light, but the creature didn't pull away. Full of purpose, it crushed the light, before pulling back the, at least for now, mangled remains of its arm._

 _The message was clear._ Just watch me.

 _The two lesser guards fled with abandon. The leader did too, to a lesser extent. He picked up his underling that had been flung and paused just before passing out of sight._

 _The last thing he said, he addressed to Nightwing. "Sorry. We tried."_

 _The entity's aura terrified him on autonomic level, what he had seen it do on an emotional one. But the fact that the person who had committed him to psychological torture mere moments before felt the need to apologize for leaving, that scared him on the intellectual level in which he thrived. There was no refuge from this thing._

 _While it seemingly tracked the retreat of the others Nightwing fought against this fear. He had to breathe. The fallen flashlight was out of reach, but with a roll he could probably make it there before the creature with its attention currently elsewhere. Another breath pushed off a little more of the fuzz of his thoughts. Light could harm it, but it'd demonstrated its ability to overcome this weakness. Maybe if concentrated the beam into some vital area, the thoracic cavity or the head maybe. Or better yet he had, or could have, explosive pellets in belt that would produce more concentrated luminance. But they'd taken his belt. He could probably conjure the pellets without the belt if the thing ignored him for just a little longer. But with his arms… his pinky and ring finger still worked, he could toss them with those. The creature hadn't attacked until its prey had moved. Maybe it could only sense movement, disturbances to its stillness. If he could get the pellets and then kick a rock at the light to distract it, he might get a good shot in. If he could just…_

 _His planning ceased as the creature turned his way. And so had the deadness in the air. And the tune_ _had returned, louder than ever._

 _The pellets were at his side now. He kicked the rock and it swung the flashlight, though unfortunately the beam didn't stop on the thing. The entity oriented towards the movement all the same. He slung the pellets at its feet, fearing it would absorb them before they exploded if he aimed for an area more likely to be vulnerable._

 _The flash went off and lanced spears into the creature legs, and it swept backwards into a tree. It seemed to be melting back into them. Not figuratively, but literally melting into the shadows._

 _He took the opportunity to try to stand, get in better position, maybe even away. But his legs collapsed under him. He hadn't realized how much his mental experience had taxed his body._

 _The creature was watching him and hesitated in its retreat as he fell. He'd shown he was vulnerable, easy pickings. His hand found another flash bomb and prepared to snap it if the creature approached. Escape might not be possible now, but he could stall, he hoped, until he was able to more permanently drive it off._

 _It wavered in place, half in and half out of the shadow. Its size was now roughly that of a person, and on the shorter side at that. Its skin still shifted, but the movement was more rhythmic and cohesive, more like the movement of a breathing animal's fur. The part that had been part barb part wing had settled into an almost cape like confirmation that was curing around its now injured legs._

 _The arm he could still see twitched forward as if to reach out, but it stopped as he threateningly raised another pellet._

 _That was a mistake; its faceless attention focused on his lack of flexion in his hand and how he oddly he held his next projectile. Now alerted to his handicap, the creature pulled itself fully from the darkness. Still, its posture was hesitant, and its damaged left arm was tucked against its side. He could see holes in its legs though they were difficult to distinguish with its cape-like extension preventing light from shining through from the far side. Maybe his attack had been enough to keep it at bay…_

 _Slowly, it held up its intact right hand. The end was clearly a hand now, and it pointed at him before forming a circle with its fingers and then pointing upwards with the index finger, left with the middle finger and placing the thumb on the first joint of the middle finger. His brain did that mental flip it did whenever he encountered a foreign language he recognized. That was ASL. Bewildered and disbelieving he shook his head in confusion and it repeated the motion. Now primed he was able to decipher_ You OK?

 _His first coherent reaction was distrust that this thing was asking him; if he confirmed its suspicions it would attack. Its use of intelligible communication was likely just an attempt to lull him into a false sense of security. The motions and stance were also vaguely feminine and his chest tightened with the worry that this was Chelsea come for him again. He pressed his hand to his head at the reflexive thought, unsure of why that name had come to him. Who was Chelsea, other than the last person he ever wanted to encounter again. The faceless head tilted in what seemed to be concern._

 _The creature shook its head and mimed the box exploding from its forehead. That could just mean this was the creature that had haunted him, freed from its container. But the Figments had been in position before the box had disintegrated, suggesting that the entity had been in place already. It could have been manifesting as the device broke, but he wasn't sure._

 _It waited, full of stillness, as he thought. In return he watched it cautiously. Its kaleidoscopic outline's moved with the beat of the music that still saturated the area. That song, whatever it was. He'd been hearing it on and off since his capture._

 _"_ _You've been following me?" he half stated-half queried incredulously. It didn't answer with a definite sign, but tilted its head off to the side as if looking away abashed. "Why?" he asked suspiciously._

 _For the span of several moments he thought it—she, he was increasingly convinced—would decline to comment, but eventually it did._ You're to restore the balance of sleep _._

 _She must be referring to Klarion's work._

 _"_ _Is that a demand or prediction?"_

 _She hesitated, but eventually chose to convey:_ Whichever motivates you more.

 _He almost chuckled at that, but his breath caught. His body hadn't cleared the endocrine reaction to his recent peril and the laughter wasn't in him. She saw the abortive attempt and took a step forward:_ You aren't okay…

 _"_ _No, not particularly," he agreed tartly. So long as she was feeling chatty and not aggressive he might as well investigate while he stalled. "You seem capable of handling the situation yourself. Why don't you?"_

I am.

 _"_ _I mean directly."_

Not my place. _She answered, and would not elaborate further. He couldn't tell if she meant she couldn't get to the origination point of the spell or if something prohibited her from doing so or something else entirely. Absentmindedly he tried to tap the fingers on his free hand pensively as he reflected and flinched as they failed to respond. Again she noticed immediately._

 _She crouched down, bringing herself to his level. It was remarkably reassuring not to have to look up at her._ May I? _she inquired. He wavered, weighing the evidence towards and against allowing her to get closer. Viscerally he didn't feel capable of new trust ever again, but that seemed to be a bias of his experience, not based on any external cues. Logically, she had driven off his captors. True, she had killed one, in a more gruesome way than he could have imagined. But she had only after severe provocation. Her movements had all been directed at staying between them and him. She'd made no hostile moves towards him and hadn't retaliated against his attack when it was clear it was in her power. It might be the song luring him into a false sense of security, but even if he couldn't feel trust, none of his perceptual powers told him she meant him harm. He gave a slow nod of assent._

 _She approached him slowly, partially out of respect but also it seemed in deference to her own injuries. Despite those she knelt down in front of him. Her legs and cape pooled into a single silhouette. She held out her injured hand to him, and up close he could see the ulcers where her skin failed to flow. He put his own cautiously over it, but couldn't quite convince himself to touch the viscous mass. His black gloves began to be pulled into her hand like a dementor's kiss and he pulled away. She turned her face to his eyes and hovered her hand over his leg. He flinched, but the fabric didn't move. With her right hand she signed_ See? _and held out her left for his right again. Understanding he put his hand back over hers and the fabric drained away to just above his elbow before stopping. His arm, he now saw, was laced with black veins emanating from a point just below where the fabric stopped._

 _Her nebulous face pinched in what he took to be a grimace, though of disgust or dismay he couldn't tell. She held her right hand over his arm and looked at him for permission to touch. He braced himself to endure the icy, oily examination and said, "Okay."_

 _To his utter astonishment he was almost completely wrong about her hand's feel. Though it was cold, it wasn't icy. More like the insulating cold of snow one felt while inside of a snow fort. As for the texture, oily could not have been farther from accurate. The touch was soft, somewhere between terrycloth and flannel. She firmly kneaded his hand and arm starting at the fingers and working her way up to the origin. Where she passed the lines became blurred and diffuse. After a few passes she would trail her fingers along his skin from elbow to fingers and some portion discoloration would follow like one of those iron filing drawing toys. When she reached his fingertips the blackness jumped to her instead. Each time she repeated this process the hair on his arm followed as if drawn in a static field. The whole process reminded him of something, but he couldn't pin down what._

 _After a few minutes the veins had disappeared, but original spot remained stalwart. She paused, and her face tightened. He could twitch his fingers forward now but it was a far cry from normal. She made a motion that he should look away, but he refused. While she'd been attending to him she'd kept anatomy imminently humanesq. Now she shook out her hand and its definition hazed exponentially. She placed the indefinable appendage at his elbow and squeezed. This time the feeling was subcutaneous, the cold of her touch sinking deep into his flesh and making him shiver. It seeped up and around the origin of his injury. Then she clenched her other hand into a fist. He didn't see what happened next because he was consumed with gritting his teeth against the intense freezing pain. He grunted, but didn't cry out, assuming that the noise would just distract her from the operation. The pain continued until the count of four and then vanished along with the pressure._

 _With her hand once again a hand, though not as defined as it had been earlier, she held her fingers up to her face before flicking her hand in a loose 'A' to her right._ Better?

 _He held up his hand and flexed it wonderingly, appreciating anew the exhilaration of the feedback loop between motion and proprioception. Without fanfare she repeated the process on the other arm._

 _As she began to rise onto her heals, another thought occurred to him. He tried to pull off his mask and as he'd feared it wouldn't budge. "She did something else…" he trailed off. Again it disturbed him that he wasn't sure who that she had been. The form in front of him shook her head, refuting his conclusion and pointed to him. "It's me?" She nodded and reached out to his chest. She tapped it once and then laid her palm against his heart. "It's me." He repeated in comprehension, but the implications troubled him._

 _She swept her arms up to her mouth and then slowly out like a yoga instructor. And then looked at her fingers and closed them around some imagined object. Instinctually he followed her lead, taking a deep breath and repeating the motion. It brought to mind the feeling of snatching the trapeze bar, the breathing of the way the air danced with him when he did so. Part of the knot that had made residence in his stomach loosened, and he understood. Almost timidly he reached to his mask. He lifted it just enough to confirm that he could, and then replaced it with a grateful smile. The way the shadow of her face deepened she could almost be smiling back._

 _Then she did rise fully. She held his compass in one hand. He hadn't noticed her taking that, but he hadn't been aware of much during her removal of his palsy. He too got to his feet, which he was pleased to find were much steadier beneath him this time. "I need that to get back to my friends." She motioned him to stand back and he complied. She pressed her hands into the compass into the rock and stood motionless. Then compass sank into the stone and she pulled at the hole like a pizza dough. This was not the effortless egress she'd begun before she'd noticed his condition. When it was person sized she stepped in and disappeared. The portal stayed open. Guessing her intent and with no better options he followed. He took all of three steps forward through it and suddenly found himself emerging at the corner of an alleyway somewhere within a city. Down the street he could see Zatanna and La'gaan grappling with a figure he recognized as sorcerer Felix Foust. He took another step away from the portal, towards lending his assistance to his companions, but looked back. The portal was rapidly shrinking behind him and was now the size of a porthole. Through it he glimpsed twin amber eyes flecked with amethyst, watching him. All at once the aperture collapsed, cutting off the creature's song on its sweetest note. Where the portal had been all that was left was the compass, which fell with a clink to the pavement of the street._

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